


All We Had Were Fragments

by Mrs_Moony



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU - The Age of Adaline, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Moony/pseuds/Mrs_Moony
Summary: Mickey was more than just another name that he has chosen for himself. It held a memory of a life he had lived once, before the accident.Despite all the years that have passed, despite the decades and decades of living stolen lives under different names, he was still the same. He could never move on, never change.On 14th October 1925, his body stopped aging. The others, though… They all kept living their lives. Moving forward.Growing old. Dying.Not him.





	1. New Year's

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been haunting me ever since I watched the movie, The Age of Adaline. Since it is an AU, I used a lot of the original plot ideas but added some of my own as well.  
> It's been a great fun to write and I'll really, really miss this story. It's a multi-chaptered story but I promised myself not to post the first chapter before finishing the whole story, and voila, I finally made it! I hope that you will find it interesting and worth reading.  
> If there is something you wish to see in the story, leave me a comment, and if it goes well with my plot, I might add it! 
> 
> Enjoy the first chapter. I haven't yet decided about the posting schedule but I was thinking two chapters a week.

**_Chapter  1:  New Year's_ **

_“Maybe we just lived between hurting and healing.”_

_― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe_

****

The increasing loudness of people chattering forced Mickey out of his thoughts. The too-rich-for-their-own-good jerks in fancy robes were getting more thrilled with each passing second, counting down the minutes until the end of the year.

It was 23:41, _Jesus_ , were they really about to count down the whole nineteen minutes?

Apparently yes. Mickey didn't understand what the big deal was. It was just another shitty year ending, nothing so special about it. All the change it represented for him was that he'd have to write 2017 instead of 2016.

He wouldn't even be there, if it were up to him, but Karen had been nagging him about the stupid party the whole month. He had just started working at the company half a year ago and had it not been for Karen, he would have quit on his first day. She persuaded him to give it a chance though, for which he owed her big time. Once the asshole in charge of their department was fired, the job became way easier to handle. Mickey was great with numbers and his job as an accountant was certainly not the worst one he's ever had. Karen, their boss' assistant (which technically put her in charge of Mickey, but they never really let that affect their friendship), helped him out a lot at the beginning. Her sharp attitude was more or less the only familiar thing in this city.

Sometimes, she could be a real bitch though. Like now, for instance.

“Where's my favourite wannabe-tough guy? Grumpy tonight, are we?” She approached him from the side, grinning widely and dragging her date for the night towards Mickey.

“Fuck you too, Karen,” he replied, unfazed. The guy hanging on her arm seemed confused, apparently waiting for him or Karen to acknowledge his presence. None of them grated him the luxury.

“So,” Karen said, letting go of what's-his-face and attempting to adjust his bowtie which was met by Mickey brushing her hand off with fury.

“God fucking dammit, I can dress myself, thank you very much. Besides, shouldn't you be up on stage, counting down with these assholes?”

“You're even grumpier than usual. Well, whatever. Hopefully you'll find someone to lighten up your mood tonight,” she smirked and started walking towards the small stage that had been set up in the back. “You coming?”

The guy looked at her, then at Mickey, probably contemplating which one of them she meant. Mickey rolled his eyes and caught up with Karen, leaving the guy behind.

“Thank God he didn't follow us, ugh,” she sighed and grabbed Mickey's upper arm. He was just so keeping up with her which really hurt his pride, considering that he was not only taller, (only by half an inch, but still) but Karen was also sporting high heels (which made her seem taller, fuck). It was just unfair.

“Maybe you should, I dunno, tell them that you're not their date instead of dragging them around after a fuck only to leave them behind? Just a suggestion.” He shrugged when Karen flipped him off, noting her smile.

“It's more fun this way.”

Finally, they were as close to the stage as Karen wanted. She reached behind Mickey and grabbed two glasses of champagne from the waiter, handing him one abruptly.

23:54. People were going insane, and both Mickey and Karen sighed in unison.

“Why did you practically bully me into coming along if you're sick of this shit anyways?” He asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

Karen leant against the wall and shrugged, observing the glass she was holding.

“We don't really hang out that much lately. Besides work, I mean. And I like making you all grumpy, you know,” she added, the momentary seriousness leaving her face instantly.

Mickey only snorted in response, bumping his shoulder against hers. “No need to hang out in fancy clothes with some stuck up assholes. Let's have a fucking movie marathon next time, huh?”

“You got it, assface.”

 

“…5! ...4! ...3! ...2! ...1! _Happy New Year_!”

Even though he rolled his eyes throughout the whole process, Mickey decided that no one would judge him if he joined in on the last three numbers of the count down. He even clapped a few times, raising his glass and letting Karen crush him in a hug. Then more people were popping by, shaking hands and wishing him the best. It was getting the best of him and soon he gestured at Karen to let her know he was going out for a smoke.

He walked out of the main room and across the hall to the elevators, already dialling the number and pressing call.

After the fourth ring, Inna picked up.

“Happy New Year, dad! How's the fancy party going? Met anyone yet? What about Karen, how…”

“Jesus, you never stop talking, do you? Happy New Year to you, too.” He never understood who Inna got it from – the need to constantly ramble – but he secretly loved it. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

“Ha-ha. So funny. Anyway, thanks! Angela says hi, by the way.”

Mickey sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Tell her I hate her, too, and that she can go fuck herself.”

“Will do.”

Smirking, Mickey walked out of the elevator and finally through the main entrance, looking for a quiet place where he could smoke in peace.

“Wanna meet up for lunch tomorrow? I know we went a few days ago but…” He gestured awkwardly, fully aware that Inna couldn't see him.

“Sure, Mickey. Go and have some fun, while you're still young!” she giggled and Mickey rolled his eyes once again. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Trying not to smile too much, he took a deep drag, the smoke immediately calming him and putting some of the tension away. He didn't mind crowds that much anymore, but it was still a bit exhausting to be around so many people.

“Hey, mind if I borrow your lighter?”

Mickey, a bit startled, turning to the right from where he'd heard the voice. The guy whom he assumed it belonged to (not that there were any other people out there) stepped closer, smiling.

“Yeah, no problem. Here,” he said, handing it to the guy and taking a moment to observe him. His eyes immediately caught the bright red color of his hair and the fact that the guy was apparently a giant.

The redhead handed the lighter back to Mickey and leant against the wall next to him, leaving a few inches between their shoulders.

For a while, they smoked together in silence, Mickey trying not to be very obvious with his staring, but he couldn't help it. He was hot as hell, the sheepish smile never quite leaving his lips – gods, did he want to put his mouth on them and taste them.

Several more minutes had passed before either of them spoke again. Mickey was just about to light his second cigarette, fidgeting for it in his pockets until he came to the saddening conclusion that he was out.

“Um, you got any spare smokes on you?” he asked nonchalantly, making sure to keep his cool.

The stranger smiled lopsidedly before reaching out his hand with the pack. “Sure,” he said, and kept eye contact with Mickey the whole time as he was pulling the cigarette out and lighting it, finally taking a drag.

“It's that bad, huh? All this boring, pretentious shit.” Red scrunched his face a bit, then startled. “Unless you're a pretentious shithead with a good taste in wine and passion for Italian furniture like the rest of these assholes, in which case I'm deeply sorry about insulting you. Except, not really.”

At that, Mickey cracked up. “Shut the fuck up,” he laughed. “This whole place is ridiculous. Makes me question why I even got out of bed and acknowledged this good-for-nothing holiday.”

He stopped himself abruptly before opening up even more to a total stranger who was apparently amused, lifting his eyebrow while suppressing a laugh.

“Ain't you a little grumpy?”

“Come on, you're the second person who called me that today.”

“Might be because it's true.”

Mickey flipped him off, scoffing. “This is what I get for being an upstanding citizen, helping out a fellow nicotine addict in need? Fucking hilarious.”

The guy looked down at him, eyes big and glassy, worrying a lip between his teeth. He looked like the epitome of regret. Mickey was just about to say something—fucking _comfort_ him—when he sighed and said, “Yeah, you're right. How can I repay my wrongdoing? Would a dinner be enough?” He was still looking at Mickey all doe-eyed, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, a smile threatening to break on his face.

Mickey caught himself actually considering the offer, but the guy couldn't seriously mean that, could he? He was just fucking around. And so Mickey chuckled, stubbing the cigarette butt with his foot. “This is the look you use to get whatever you want, huh? Just add some tears and you're good to go.”

“Well, is it working?”

Mickey frowned a bit. “Are you seriously asking me out?” He heard himself saying, mentally scolding himself for sounding a little hopeful.

The guy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Mr Obvious. No fancy-ass suits, promise.”

He was about to say something. Probably agree, but at the same exact second he opened his mouth to speak, Karen burst out of the door, giggling like crazy. She was half-leaning, half-lying on a guy who did not seem very pleased, and once Karen spotted Mickey, she whooped loudly in his ear, making the guy twitch.

“Mickey! Hey, Mickey! The fuck have you gone?” She let go of the guy who quickly backed out, returning to the building. Asshole.

“Jesus, Karen, have you robbed a goddamn liquor store?!” He walked up to her and helped her hold herself up, and he noticed her staring at his smoking buddy.

“Aw, didn't know you had a date. You… fuck, these shoes are killing me. You sure know how to pick 'em, huh?” She smiled slyly, giving the guy a quick once over but letting out a wince when her head started spinning.

Mickey didn't look back at the guy and instead started looking for a cab, humming and nodding to Karen's mumbling.

“Is she okay?” the guy asked, the worry noticeable in his voice. “Looks like she's about to pass out.” It was true—Karen was hanging limply from his side.

“Fuck,” Mickey sighed, trying to hold her up. “Yeah, looks like it. She's not usually like this, she can hold her liquor. Dunno what happened.”

“Need any help? I could drive you somewhere, it might take a while before a cab pulls over.”

Mickey considered it. The guy looked genuinely concerned, not like he was some maniac trying to kill them both. But it _was_ a possibility.

“Thanks for the offer, but… I kinda don't even know your name. I mean. Uh, sorry,” he rubbed his face. Karen was looking around, looking ready to pass out again.

“Oh. It's Ian, actually. And I swear I'm not a creep.”

“Mickey,” he said, shrugging. “Okay then, save the day.”

“This way,” Ian said, walking more towards the left where the cars were parked. “Need some help?” he asked, gesturing at Karen, but Mickey shook his head. “Nah, it's good. Thanks.”

The walk to the car was short, thank God, and once Mickey managed to get Karen on the backseat (refusing Ian's help once again), he sat in the front.

“Where to?” Ian asked, putting on his seatbelt and staring pointedly at Mickey until he sighed exasperatedly and did the same.  

Smiling to himself sheepishly, Ian started the car and drove to the address. The silence was nice, not uncomfortable at all, but Mickey couldn't stop fidgeting. He found himself wishing the car ride was a bit longer so that he could stole a few more glances at Ian. If the latter one noticed, he never pointed it out.

“That's me. Just pull over by the curb, we'll take it from there,” Mickey said, pointing at the apartment building in front of them. Ian did as he was told, parking the car just a few feet from the entrance.

Mickey didn't move immediately though. He felt embarrassed as hell, but he didn't want to leave just yet. But Karen's drunken mumbling dragged him to Earth again. He looked at her and then at Ian.

“Do you need help, Mickey?” Ian asked, tilting his head a bit to the side. The way he said Mickey's name made him feel queasy.

He was about to say no again, but then the asshole sucked on his lip, never once breaking eye contact, and Mickey could swear that he knew very well what it was doing to Mickey. He didn't even notice that he was nodding. Fuck.

“Um, yeah. Thanks, man. For the ride, too, you didn't have to…” Pathetic, pathetic. How could he have lost his cool so easily?

“Glad I could help,” Ian replied, and then the two of them got out of the car and together managed to walk Karen to the elevator.

She seemed more alert now, but it was hard to tell, really.

Mickey half expected Ian to invite himself into his apartment once they had reached his door, but that didn't happen. Instead, he waited, leant against the wall while Mickey brought Karen inside and led her to his couch, letting her crash onto the mostly cleaned out space.

He returned to the door where Ian was still waiting, playing with his car keys.

“Is your girlfriend gonna be okay?” Ian asked, his face as concerned as before, but his smile seemed a little too tight.

“Best friend, actually.” He had no idea why he felt the need to correct him. Everyone assumed that about him and Karen. (Well, he might have had an idea why he didn't want Ian to think that. Maybe.) “And yeah, I hope so. She probably just needs to sleep it off. Thanks for helping us out, really.”

Ian was full on grinning now. “So… what about that dinner? Are we still on?”

It took Mickey a moment too long to realize what Ian was referring to. Ian didn't look like he was mocking him or anything, but it was still a little suspicious. For all Ian knew, Mickey could have been some homophobic prick ready to smash his face in for even suggesting something like that. Then again, maybe he really didn't think of it as a date, just a thank you dinner, and Mickey was being stupid.

“Wait, you were being serious about that?” he asked, knowing that he was taking too long to answer.

“Of course. Give me your phone.” Ian reached his hand out with his palm turned up, waiting for Mickey to hand his phone over – and he did just that, without as much as thinking about it for a spare second.

With a huge smile, Ian put his info in, then sent himself a message.

“Here,” he said, returning the phone to Mickey. “I'll text you the details. Have a fun night, Mickey.”

And he was gone. Mickey barely managed to mumble a good-bye in the direction of the backwards-walking redhead before Ian got lost from his sight.

Not two minutes after he got into his apartment and locked the door, his phone beeped. Mickey decided to ignore it for the time-being, fully intent on checking on Karen before calling it a night.

His colleague-slash-best-friend was plastered across the couch, snoring lightly. He smiled to himself when he imagined the hangover that was inevitably waiting for her in the morning. After rummaging through his closet for a while he found some blankets that would have to do, and along with a pillow from his bed he never used, he brought it all to Karen.

Only then, after finally undressing and getting to bed, he allowed himself to check the message.

_Meet me at Wilson Street 2/707 at 6pm on Sunday. I'll cook._

_-Ian_


	2. Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the second chapter of this story, Mickey finds it hard to follow the rules he has set for himself, rules that he learnt the hard way not to disobey. 
> 
> It is about forgetting, or, more accurately, choosing to forget.

**_Chapter 2: Dangerous_ **

 

_“Know yourself and go in swinging” Patrick Ness, More Than This_

 

 

“Oh for fuck's sake… we're so never coming here again. Look at these goddamn snobs, thinking they're the masters of the universe just because their daddies shit golden bricks. Fuck me,” Mickey's seemingly endless rant was interrupted when a rather unfazed waiter tapped him on the shoulder, scaring the shit out of him.

“What?!” he grunted, frowning at the waiter.

“I'm sorry sir, you can't smoke in here. There's a sign right by the entrance and here on the table, too.”

Mickey glared at the sign, then at the waiter, then at the sign again. After a few more seconds of scoffing, he handed the smoke over to him, not sparing him a glance.

“What's so goddamn funny, huh?” he asked Inna without any venom to his voice. She had that effect on him. No matter how harsh and tough he was around most people, he always looked at her like she was an angel.

“You,” she replied, grinning and sipping her sparkling water. “Does the nicotine even affect you?”

“I have no idea. Feels good though, and I'm pretty fucking used to it after all that time.” That was completely true. He found out a long time ago that alcohol, though not so strongly, affected him pretty much the same as any other person. With cigarettes, he didn't know, but he figured that getting lung cancer wasn't a possibility.

“It's a nice place. I don't know why you're always so fussy.” Inna gestured at the boring white walls as if they were the proof of her words. To Mickey, they were just that. White.

“Yeah okay. Let's not fight just yet. How did New Year's go with Angela? She slept at your place?”

Inna nodded, a smile growing on her face. “It was great. Much better than last year. Angela and I even saw the fireworks, they were spectacular! Did you watch the show, too?”

Mickey took note of how Inna's whole face lit up when she talked about it, and he had to smile.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it while I was at the party. That shit was boring as fuck… And Karen got totally trashed so I had to drag her drunk ass home.” He contemplated for a while about whether or not he should mention Ian to her. But there was no reason, right? What would she do? Give her dad relationship advice? He met the guy once, Jesus Christ. It's not like he was actually gonna go to the stupid dinner.

“Have you met someone?”

Mickey's eyes shot up, his eyebrows drawing together immediately. He had a serious suspicion that his daughter was, in fact, a psychic.

“What? No, why would you… What?”

“Oh come on, dad, you've been staring at the wall for two minutes straight with that dreamy, I-saw-a-hot-guy-and-I-can't-get-him-out-of-my-mind kind of look plastered across your face. I know you.” The smug expression on her face was an exact copy of the one he wore so often. Sometimes he hated how alike they were… Secretly though, he absolutely loved it.

“Mind your own business, huh? It's not like that. He just helped me out with Karen last night, no big deal. And if you call my face dreamy-looking once again, I'm disowning you.”

“You're blushing,” she giggled, shaking her head a bit. “The guy must be a real hot piece of ass.”

“You do realize how fucked up it must sound to anyone who might be listening, right?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It's not like you care. And we've got our own booth for a reason.”

“Yeah, anyway, I'd prefer if we changed the topic now. Have you been thinking about what Doctor Harris suggested last week?” Mickey tried to keep the urgency out of his voice, but he could see from the way Inna pursed her lips and looked down that he wasn't successful. She knew how much he wanted her to say yes.

“I've still got a whole week to think it through. But I…” her voice broke as she looked him in the eyes, hers swelling with unshed tears. “I don't want to do it, dad. That place… It freaks me out, so much. It's like the last stop on the train ride to death. I'm not ready for that. Angela is good to me, she takes care of me. I'm your daughter, Mickey, you must know how much I cannot agree to this.”

Inna was full on crying now. Her wrinkled cheeks were glistening with tears, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Mickey stood up abruptly and took her into a tight hug. The two of them weren't really the hugging types, but the physical comfort was more than needed now. It was necessary – for Inna and Mickey both.

“Shh, I've got you. I've got you. It's okay, yeah? I won't force you. You're right, you've got a whole week. Let's enjoy this crappy food now, okay?” Mickey's efforts to sound comforting sounded pathetic to him, but it seemed to calm Inna down a bit. Eventually, she stopped sobbing in his arms, and he trusted himself not to break down in front of her as he drew away.

“Let's go for a walk,” Inna whispered, and Mickey nodded wordlessly. He gestured for the waiter and paid for the food and then they were out of there, walking down the street, the quiet between them carrying the weight of the reality that none of them wanted to deal with.

She was turning 67 this year. As for Mickey, well… He celebrated his 85th birthday last year. When people saw them together, they assumed Inna was his grandmother. They assumed that he was in his early twenties. And no matter how many countries he's lived at, how many people he's met... He wasn't living, not really. His life was just a waste, and Inna, the woman who sometimes still acted like a little girl… He knew it wasn't like that, but sometimes it felt like he was stealing her time from her by living for so long, unchanged.

Mickey has been trying to convince Inna to move to a hospice. She had her own apartment that was a half an hour long drive away from his, and Angela, a woman he had hired, has been taking care of her for the last two years. Ever since Inna's memories got all mixed up after an accident three years ago (which Mickey still blamed himself for), she wasn't capable of living on her own.

She was fine most of the time, but there were still some blank spaces in her memory, sometimes even years, that she never regained. And lately, she'd been forgetting the little things, too, which worried Mickey so much that he talked to her doctor who suggested the idea.

“Can we agree to drop this for now? I promise I'll think about it some more, and we'll meet up before my next appointment with Doc.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey agreed tiredly. His head was throbbing with pain and he knew they would never get anywhere, at least not today.

“When's Angela picking you up?”

Inna pulled out her phone – it was a mystery to Mickey that she picked up on the whole smartphone thing so fast, unlike him – and scrolled through her notes for a while before finding the time. She kept it all neatly organised which helped her when her mind was getting too foggy, and it proved to work better than journals.

“In half an hour, actually. Should we head back to the restaurant?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn't a long walk back, but they took it slowly, neither of them minding the cold. Once they got there, Angela's car was already parked in the lot. She waved at them excitedly but made no move to get out of the car, giving them some privacy. Mickey gave her a half smile and a nod of his head before turning back to Inna.

“I'll call you in a few days, yeah? Try not to get into any trouble. Drugs and guns are off the table, leave that shit to me.” He was _mostly_ joking there. Their history was pretty… adventurous, one might say.

“Got it. But dad?” She asked, smiling mischievously. “Tell me his name, at least?”

It took him a moment, but then he sighed exasperatedly, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Nosy little shit… It's Ian, okay? And stop smiling like that, for fuck's sake.” He was shaking his head at the ridiculous giggle Inna let out. They walked up to the car together and Angela rolled the window down.

“Hey Ang,” he greeted.

“Dipshit,” she said in return, grinning. A charming woman, really.

Mickey kissed Inna's cheek before opening the door for her, and just as Angela was about to take off, Inna spoke. “Go for it. You deserve happiness, Mickey. Live a little!” Even though the last part was their inner joke, he could see that she meant it this time.

He watched the car drive away from the lot, frowning. It's been a while since he dated anyone, really. But there was a reason for that, and Mickey wondered whether sometimes, Inna just chose to forget that part. He wished he could forget sometimes, too.

Before he could think about it for too long, he pulled out his phone and typed out the message, then hit send.

**I'll be there. You better turn out to be a damn good cook, I'm picky**

**Mickey**

 

…

 

When Sunday came, Mickey seriously thought about ditching the idiot. The guy was unbelievable. He kept sending Mickey random texts about his day, things like _work is a bitch today_ , or _my boss doesn't know that I spit into his food every day for a week, whoops_. And the pictures were even worse. A sunset captured with something incredibly cheesy like _what do your eyes look like in the sun?_

It was as if they knew each other for years, and it was freaking Mickey out how easily they slipped into a conversation. His replies were mostly snarky and dripping with sarcasm, but Ian seemed to genuinely like his sense of humour.

Like he said, ridiculous.

But the real reason he was thinking about ditching was that, unlike his efforts not to, he was beginning to kind of like Ian. Not just in a _he's hot_ , _I wanna fuck him_ kind of way, but in a _I would like to get to know him and talk to him about things for hours_ way.

His phone beeped then. It was Ian, of fucking course.

_hey mick!! I'll be busy tonight so no texting :( got a date with this really hot guy… bet you'd like him. about to go grocery shopping because I promised I'll cook for him but, shh, I'm kinda terrible at it. do you think he'll notice if I add enough spices??_

Chuckling to himself and then immediately frowning at the sound, Mickey typed out a reply.

**that's a dick move, lying about your abilities like that. poor guy. what if he genuinely likes you and then storms out because you fuck the food up so badly?**

_what if I ordered take out, put in on plates and pretended that I cooked it?? is that too obvious?? I bet I could pull it off…_

**jfc you're ridiculous. I'm ditching your ass.**

To that, Ian replied with a picture of himself. His expression was the epitome of sadness.

**cuteness won't save you this time. I'm very serious when it comes to food. better pick up some cooking classes before I get there.**

_you think I'm cute? ;)_

 

Nope, not happening. Mickey was not gonna go, he was decided.

Except that he was already on his way, kind of. And he did not spend twenty minutes picking out a shirt. Absolutely not.

Once he got out of the cab, he was kind of surprised when he saw Ian's building. He was expecting some artsy hipster studio downtown, but instead, he was in the suburbs, in front of a rather old apartment building. He walked inside and found out that Ian's apartment was on the very first floor, which was actually just a few steps up from the entrance. There was no bell and so he knocked a few times.

“Just walk in, it's unlocked,” Ian's voice shouted from behind the door. Mickey pushed it open and walked in.

The place was huge. It seemed like Ian's apartment was spread out across the whole floor and it certainly showed signs of being in the state of reconstruction. But Mickey immediately liked the vibe he got when he looked around. Despite the mess and the mismatched furniture, it was cosy and nice.

“Ian?” he called out, still not seeing him. He walked further into the mess, trying not to knock anything over.

There, behind the boxes, was a spacious kitchen where Ian was stirring something in a pot while humming to the quiet music playing from the speakers.

“Hey,” he said, turning to Mickey and giving him a once over. When he was finished, he smiled appreciatively and Mickey felt his ears going red.

“I thought we were having take-out,” Mickey said, at last, gesturing at the pot. Ian followed his gaze and grinned, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I lied. Wanted to see if you'd only agreed to come because of my cooking. But you came anyway.”

Mickey wanted to either punch the smug look off his face or kiss him into oblivion, but he settled on a snarl. “Fucking ridiculous. It better be good.”

“Oh, it will be. You know what, it's almost ready. Go and find yourself a place to sit. I know that's a bit of a challenge and I'm sorry about the mess, really. I'd like to say that I just moved in but it's kind of been like this for the past five months.” He didn't look apologetic though, and Mickey didn't say that he found the place endearing. He just nodded and walked to the right where he found a few stools and, bingo, a couch. There were piles of stuff on it which he just moved carefully, creating a spot for himself.

“There should be a table behind the pile of boxes, could you bring it to the couch?”

Mickey looked around and laughed. “Man, there's literally nothing else here _but_ piles of boxes. Mind being a bit more specific?”

“The big one, on your right,” Ian turned around and gestured at it. Micky walked over there and, indeed, found a small coffee table which he easily lifted and then put it in front of the couch. Then, after a moment of thinking about whether or not it was rude to touch Ian's stuff, he started putting the piles of newspapers and books from the couch to the stools he had found earlier so that they could both fit on it comfortably.

Once he was done, Ian walked in, carrying a tray. “It's done. Prepare your mind to be blown.” He put it on the table and hopped onto the couch next to Mickey, handing him one of the bowls.

“What is it?” Mickey asked, eyeing the contents suspiciously, but he had to admit that it smelled delicious.

“Goulash. Old family recipe, but I added a few things so that it's original. Try it,” he said excitedly. He was almost bouncing on the couch and Mickey felt a smile creep onto his face.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He picked up a spoon and blew on it before tasting the goulash. He must have made a noise because Ian was smiling widely, his eyebrow raised.

“Seems like you like it,” he said, picking up his own bowl. Mickey was too busy suppressing the moans that were about to creep out from his throat.

He swallowed the food and bumped into Ian who was openly laughing now.

“Shut the fuck up. This is unfair, you know? I'd probably tell you my bank account details right now if you threatened to take this away from me.” He rolled his eyes when Ian whooped and got back to eating. Ian did so, too, and once there was nothing left (Mickey had to force himself not to lick the bowl clean), they sighed in unison.

“I take it that my evil plan worked,” Ian said with a grin. Mickey, still a little dazed from the taste just raised his eyebrows, questioning. “Huh?”

“You know,” Ian chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “The evil plan to lure you into my apartment, seduce you with my food and then watch you fall asleep from the drug before I can murder you.” He was smiling softly and for a moment, Mickey was genuinely scared, but then he saw the corners of Ian's mouth shaking.

“You motherfucker,” he said, hitting him on the arm while Ian was cracking up and laughing loudly. After he calmed down, Mickey joined him, and the two of them laughed like crazy until the tears were threatening to fall.

“I'm sorry,” Ian said, catching his breath, “but you should have seen your face! Jesus.”

“You're a weirdo, you know that?”

“I guess so. But I was telling the truth. Well, except for the murdering part. And the drug part. Mostly I just meant the seducing part.” The way Ian's lips curled into a smile was almost too much for Mickey to handle. But then he licked them and bit his lip, and Mickey could have exploded right there. It was too much, it had been too long and Ian was right there, looking at him like he wanted him as badly as Mickey wanted Ian.

“Not to be too straightforward, but…” Ian started, his eyes glued to Mickey's lips.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Mickey said and grabbed Ian's shirt in the front, pressing their faces together. The eagerness in which Ian kissed him back sent shivers down his spine and Mickey wanted to press himself closer, wanted all the space between them to just disappear.

Ian' hands found their way on his hips and Mickey took the hint and crawled on Ian's lap, sighing into the kiss in relief when they were finally pressed chest to chest.

Ian was kissing him like he's been waiting to do that the whole time, and maybe he has, and when Mickey tangled his fingers in Ian's hair and pulled, the sound Ian made sent a wave of pleasure through his body.

They were both hard in their jeans and the friction was becoming painful, but when Mickey reached down for Ian's belt, Ian pulled away, catching Mickey's lip between his teeth briefly.

“I don't really have a bedroom yet, but there's a mostly empty bed right over there.” His voice was thick and hoarse, all the signs of smugness gone. Mickey nodded abruptly, not trusting himself to sleep. He stood up and Ian followed immediately, re-joining their lips once they were both standing. Mickey started walking backwards and Ian motioned him to the corner where his bed was, and he didn't stop until the backs of Mickey's knees hit the mattress.

Ian reached for Mickey's shirt and started dragging it upwards, and Mickey pulled away so that he could undress him. The rest of their clothes followed soon after, and the two men breathed heavily once they were both lying on the bed.

There was a quiet voice in Mickey's mind, telling him that he should stop it now before he'd do something stupid, but he shut it up by dragging himself on top of Ian and kissing his jaw. He traced his pale neck with light kisses before sucking on a spot above his collarbone which made Ian curse quietly. Mickey smiled against his neck as he kept kissing his body, moving further south, down his firm chest and all the way to his hipbones where he allowed himself to suck a few marks. By the sound Ian was making, he certainly didn't mind.

“Need you,” Ian whispered, eyes shut firmly. Mickey dragged his palms up and down Ian's thighs teasingly, touching everywhere else except for his cock which was begging for release. He sucked another mark on the inner side of his thigh and only after Ian's broken whisper, “Mickey…” he licked up and down the underside of his dick, circling around the head before taking him in.

“Fuck, fuck, just keep doing that, please,” Ian kept murmuring, glancing at Mickey every now and then and breathing heavily. Mickey found a rhythm soon, hollowing his cheeks so that he could take Ian in as far as he could go and then sucking on the head every now and then. Ian was fisting the sheets with one hand while the other was tangled in Mickey's hair, motioning his movements but letting him keep his own pace. It was only after Ian's dick started throbbing on his tongue, the precum leaking from the tip, that Ian's hips shot upwards.

“Fuck, sorry,” Ian muttered, and Mickey kept a hand on his hip to keep him from moving.

“Mickey, I'm close, I'm… God!” Ian moaned so obscenely that Mickey almost came untouched, but he focused on Ian instead. He sucked and licked, ignoring the saliva and precum that was dripping down his chin, and when Ian warned him with a tap on the shoulder, he kept going, working Ian through his orgasm until there wasn't a drop of cum left.

“What. On. Earth.” Ian's murmurs were hardly above whispers, and when he dragged Mickey upwards and kissed him, Mickey spread the remnants on Ian's tongue, too, letting him taste himself.

“Mickey,” Ian said once he pulled away again, a lazy smile on his lips. “I hope you won't hit me but, you should start sucking cock for a living. And I mean that entirely as a compliment.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and grinned. “Been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he said honestly, and he didn't even think twice about it.

Ian looked down at his still painfully hard dick, lips curling in another smile.

“I could return the favour… or fuck you. Or the other way around, it's up to you.”

Just the words made Mickey's breath hitch – he didn't need to be asked twice.

“Fuck me,” he said, pulling Ian into another kiss. He could feel Ian hardening again against his leg, and then Ian was reached towards his drawer and pulling out a bunch of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“Face to face?” Ian asked, and Mickey only paused for a second before nodding. “Yeah,” he murmured, reaching for the lube but Ian stopped him,

“I'll prep you. Can I?”

Mickey grinned and took Ian's hand into his own, lifting it in front of his face. “With those fingers? I fucking _demand_ you do it.” They were so long, fuck.

Ian laughed and it wasn't awkward at all. None of it was, which was a bit weird for Mickey because it didn't happen often that he felt so comfortable with someone during sex.

Once Ian had prepped him enough, put on a condom and slicked himself up, he pushed Mickey's leg up onto his shoulder and pushed into him slowly. It's been a long time indeed and even after having three incredibly long fingers up his ass, he was still tight. Which may have had something to do with how fucking huge Ian was, but still.

“Oh my god, fuuuck,” Ian moaned against his lips and Mickey felt his eyes rolling backwards when Ian was finally in all the way.

Once the initial pain went away and he had time to adjust to the sensation, he was desperate to get Ian to continue.

“Move. Move, please,” he whispered and almost cried out when Ian did just that. He pulled all the way out and then slammed into Mickey, not too roughly but enough to draw a surprised moan out of him.

Ian found a pace that was quick but it was only after he changed the angle a bit, lifting Mickey's hips up, and found the spot, that Mickey's cursing filled the room.

Mickey didn't last very long, not with the speed Ian picked up after he heard the sounds Mickey was making, and as soon as Ian touched him and stroked a few times, he was coming all over his chest. Ian was mumbling incoherently as he was chasing his own release, following Mickey only a minute later.

He felt spent and tired and he couldn't stop himself from smiling lazily after Ian had pulled out, cleaned them up and laid on the bed next to him.

“That was… wow.”

“Elaborate,” Mickey smirked and Ian hit him lightly.

“Shut up,” he laughed, tracing an invisible line, up and down Mickey's forearm.

“Mind if I smoke here?” Mickey asked, sitting up and looking for his jeans where he kept his smokes.

“Nah, I do it all the time. Here,” Ian offered him a pack that Mickey didn't notice on the nightstand before, and he pulled out a cigarette. Ian did the same and he lit them up for both of them.

The smoke in Mickey's lungs was like a slap in his face because he realized that the way he was looking at Ian, smiling at how cute and young he looked when his hair was all ruffled… It was more than just an afterglow of probably the most amazing sex he ever had. It was affection, an affection that could turn into something dangerous. He had to leave.

Ian –how, Mickey had no idea—seemed to have picked up on his distress as he smiled at him sadly, leaning against the headboard and looking away. “You're leaving.” It wasn't a question, and Mickey hated how defeated Ian sounded. Like he should have known better. Mickey wanted to prove him wrong, wanted to tell him that all he wanted to do was stay with him, maybe even cuddle him on that very bed and never get up.

“I can stay. Just have to head to work real early.” He didn't want to lie to Ian so he went with the truth, but to be honest, it didn't matter. Whether he spent the whole night or just a few more minutes, allowing himself to cuddle up to the dorky ginger who was now smiling again… Either way, he was breaking his own rules. Hell, he broke them the very second he walked into the apartment. Why stop now?

“Okay,” Ian said, lying back down. “C'mere,” he motioned at the spot beside him. Mickey put the smoke down and joined him, pressing a kiss to Ian's shoulder.

They kissed lazily for a few more minutes, nothing rushing them this time, and it was almost better than everything else. Once Ian got back after turning off the lights, Mickey told him just that.

“You're a damn good kisser. Thought I'd tell you that…” He was half-way sleeping already, but he smiled at Ian's light-hearted chuckle.

“You too, Mick. Good night.” Ian kissed his forehead and then crawled into the bed behind Mickey, pressing himself against his back and sighing contently.

“Night,” Mickey murmured before falling asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'll be posting two chapters a week but yikes, nevermind, here's another one. Hope you liked it! <3


	3. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to look good. Really, really good.  
> Which is exactly why it sucks so much when it all goes downhill.

**_Chapter 3: Family_ **

_“People ask for what they need in different ways. Sometimes by not even asking for it at all.”_ _  
― Patrick Ness, More Than This_

 

 

The warm, tingly, content feeling that he felt throughout the night didn't go away when Mickey opened his eyes the morning after. It took him a moment to make the shapes out in the dimly lit space, but soon he found the source of light.

There were sounds, too, coming from the kitchen where Ian was quietly singing along to some song he had on. Mickey thought he recognised it from the radio, but he wasn't a huge fan of popular music – it all sounded mostly the same to him.

“How do you take your coffee? I've got some tea, too, if you like that better.”

Ian's head popped out from behind the corner, his face greeting Mickey with a smile.

“Um, black coffee's good. No sugar,” he murmured, sitting up on the bed. He yawned and stretched before reaching to the floor for his shirt and putting it on. The jeans were grumbled and tossed below the bed – he'd definitely need a change of clothes and a shower before going to work.

Mickey checked the time on his phone – it was just a few minutes after six which was probably the reason why it was still mostly dark outside. He still had an hour but if he wanted to go home before work, he'd have to get going soon.

When Ian appeared with two steaming mugs, Mickey felt a grin tugging on his lips when he looked him up and down. He was wearing old sweatpants and a worn out t-shirt, his hair still an unstyled mess and once he got closer, Mickey could see a few very visible marks on his neck that would be really hard to cover up.

“Here,” Ian said, handing him one of the mugs and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He pulled his knees up to his chin and smelled his coffee before taking a sip only to make a face and hand it over.

“Ugh, I must have given you mine. There's no sugar in this one, only bitterness and despair.”

Mickey chuckled and handed over his mug, taking Ian's in exchange. “Shut up and let me enjoy my despair-less coffee.” He took a sip and rolled his eyes when Ian made a gagging sound.

Once they were finished with their coffees, Mickey glanced at his phone again and made a face. “Gotta go soon. Work.”

Ian nodded, grabbing the mugs and putting them on his nightstand to be dealt with later. “Did you drive here? I can drive you if not.”

“I took a cab, actually. Was afraid I'd get lost.”

“Great,” Ian grinned. “I'm driving you then.”

“Nah, don't worry about it. I'll just take another cab, it's not that far.”

“Oh, shut it.” Ian discarded his protests with a wave of his hand. “You headed to your apartment first? I don't have to head to work before noon, anyway.”

And so, a few minutes of bickering later, the two of them made their way to Ian's car which was parked in a small lot behind the building. Ian didn't need instructions to get to Mickey's place – he probably still remembered from earlier. The drive didn't take long and the comfortable silence didn't bother Mickey in the slightest.

When Ian parked the car in front of his building, the two of them stayed in the car for a bit. Mickey was itching to just say fuck it, let's have sex in the car instead. But he was also scared because he'd also just like to just sit there with Ian, doing absolutely nothing. Which is what finally made him get out of the car.

Ian got out, too, and he leant against the side of his car, arms crossed.

“I hope you won't change your number now or something like that.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but Mickey could tell that he was serious. Honestly, he didn't blame Ian at all for thinking he'd disappear. He probably should. But he knew himself too well, knew his limits – and no matter how much he tried, he just wasn't strong enough to keep himself away from Ian.

“Only if you give me a reason to, like posting my naked pictures on Facebook or some shit,” he grinned, happy that Ian's face didn't look worried anymore.

He stepped close enough to feel Ian's breath on his face and hummed contently when Ian leant in, sealing their lips in one more kiss. “Ain't you scared of prying neighbors?” Ian mumbled against his lips. Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don't give a fuck.”

“Well then…” Ian grabbed him by the hips and rolled them so that Mickey was pressed against the car, but instead of continuing the kiss, he started sucking on Mickey's neck, and before Mickey could realize what was happening, he could already feel his skin bruising.

“No, you fucker, stop,” he tried to sound angry but ended up letting out a pleased sigh.

“It's just revenge. My neck looks like a fucking canvas. Won't be able to hide it. Now we match,” Ian finally let go, a pleased smile forming on his face when he observed his work.

“That was a dick move. Fucking Karen won't give me a break. _Now_ I'm changing my number.”

“Karen… the drunk girl?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, pulling himself away from Ian reluctantly. “I really gotta hurry now. Thanks for letting me stay and all that. Was nice.”

“I'll see you soon, Mick.” Ian smiled before jumping into his car, waving Mickey goodbye like an excited puppy. Mickey huffed and waved him back. Fucking dork.

 

…

 

At work, it was a disaster, just like Mickey thought it would be. Karen was being a bitch and kept making sly remarks in front of their dick of a boss, and he had to threaten her multiple times before she finally cut it.

Around noon, Ian texted him a picture of his still unmade bed with a caption that read: _miss you already. even though you like to drink gross coffee_

Mickey didn't even realize that he snorted, but Karen was immediately on his shoulder, managing to read the message before he snatched his phone away.

“Oh, was that lover boy? Nice place,” she whistled laughed when Mickey cursed loudly.

“Jesus, Karen, shut the fuck up about it already. I don't make fucking celebrations for you every time you manage to get some dick.”

“Yeah, because that'd mean _a lot_ of celebrations. You, however…”

“Me what?!” he snarled, but Karen just rolled her eyes.

“When's the last time you dated someone? I'm not sure if that's what you're doing this time but it's more than just a quick fuck in an alley, that's for sure. I'm just trying to be happy for you, dumbass.”

“Yeah, okay, could you be happy for me quietly in your own booth without getting us both fired in the process? Dick-breath has been glaring at me the whole day.”

“You're no fun,” Karen muttered, defeated, as she climbed off of his armrest and walked towards her own. “Since I'm not allowed to pry into your barely existent sex life, how about I tell you about Luke again? We actually went on a date last night… An actual date, no fucking within the first few minutes, can you believe it? Well, we went to the—“

Mickey had to stop listening there. Karen was his best friend, but he never had it in himself to listen to her rambling. She didn't seem to mind, though, and so he got back to work, humming and nodding occasionally to at least seem like he was listening.

 

The next time Mickey saw Ian, they went for a lunch three days later, and they spent almost two hours just talking. Both of them ended up being late for work, but it was almost impossible to stop once they had started. There wasn't much that Mickey had to offer that wouldn't be too revealing of his past, but he tried to answer Ian's questions truthfully. He said he was twenty-six and that he had no family to speak of. Ian, on the other hand, was one of six kids, and he kept in touch with all of them.

It became a thing. They became a thing. They went for lunches together on work days, spent the night at either Ian's or Mickey's, woke up together in the morning.

Days turned into a week, then another, and suddenly they've been together for almost a month. Mickey found it harder and harder to keep the truth about himself hidden. He almost slipped a few times, mostly when he wanted to mention Inna, but even if Ian noticed, he didn't say anything.

Inna ended up stubbornly refusing the hospice, and Mickey was growing more and more worried about her. During their last meet-up, she panicked in the middle of the restaurant, looking around in confusion until Mickey managed to talk her down, reminding her where she was and who she was with. At least she remembered him. He almost broke down the last time she couldn't recognise him… But he promised himself not to think about that again.  

Ian picked up on that, however. He asked Mickey what was worrying him so much a few times, but was always met with a wall that Mickey had built around his secret.

They didn't fight about it, but Mickey could see that it was both frustrating and hurting Ian – the fact that he didn't trust him – and that he didn't say anything in fear that Mickey would take off without saying a word.

Turns out, Ian was nervous about something else, too. It came up when they were talking about his family one afternoon, none of them paying attention to the shitty movie in the background on Mickey's even shittier TV.

“What about your parents though? Were they not around?” Mickey asked after Ian had told him that his older sister practically raised them all. He knew that already, but Ian didn't elaborate on why she had to do that.

“My parents are… A mess, really.” Ian laughed tensely, rubbing Mickey's palm without really looking at him. “They never really cared about any of us. Often forgot us somewhere or spent all our money on drugs and booze. Fiona was nine when they left us alone for a whole week. We slept in alleys and parks, begging people for change so that we could buy some food. But we learnt, you know? Started taking care of ourselves… well, mostly Fiona did. And when Frank, our dad, tried to fuck us over next time, she didn't let him. My mom, Monica, she's… On and off, never really around, but when she is, shit goes down really fast. It's like… When we were younger, and she suddenly showed up, all ready to be a mom of the year for a week, we believed her. It hurt more when she left again, no matter how many times it happened.” He paused, smiling sadly.

“But the last few years have been good. I haven't seen either of them in the last three years, and most of us got our own place to live now. Fiona and Liam are still in the old house, we have dinners there regularly.”

Mickey didn't really know what to say. He hadn't known that Ian had a childhood like that, and he could relate to the shitty parents part way too well.

“I'm sorry that they suck. But, you know, fuck them. Look at you know, all grown up,” he patted Ian's head jokingly and, like he had hoped, earned himself a chuckle from Ian.

“Yeah, got my big boy pants on now. Hey Mick,” he said, turning himself to face Mickey. “The next dinner is this Friday, actually. Was thinking… You could come with. If you want.”

Mickey thought about it for a while but eventually nodded. “Yeah, 'course. Hopefully, they won't hate me.”

“Well,” Ian said. “They're weird, but if they're anything like me, they'll adore you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes so hard that it hurt. “Dork.”

But Ian's face turned serious again, and Mickey sensed that there's something more he wanted to say.

“What is it?”

“It's just… Hopefully, it won't be a big deal, but I'll get it if you get mad because I probably should have told you sooner. Ugh.” Ian bit his lip and gestured wordlessly, the most nervous Mickey had seen him since they first met.

He decided against prompting Ian to talk, and instead, he pressed himself a little bit closer, held his hand a little tighter.

“What I said about my mom when I first mentioned her a few weeks ago… How she's un-medicated and off the rails mostly?” Ian asked and Mickey nodded, remembering. “She's mentally ill. Bipolar. And I am, too. It's genetic, so there's one more thing I can thank her for. But I'm stable and taking my meds, unlike her. Have been mostly well for the last four years.”

“Oh,” was all Mickey could think of saying, and he wished once again that he had a better way of expressing himself when Ian's face seemed to get even tenser, and so he added. “Okay. I mean, I know what it is, I'm not gonna freak out or anything. No need to break my hand because you're squeezing it so hard—“

He was happy to see Ian finally letting out a breath and smiling slightly.

“Thanks, Mick. I always think it's gonna get easier with time, telling people. Wanted to tell you right away, but… Well, anyway, now you know.”

“Now I know.” Mickey shrugged, bumping into Ian. “And the world didn't end.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey made sure not to act like he didn't mean that he was totally okay with what Ian had told him. His mind was racing because of something else. He could tell that it was a big deal to Ian – telling him about his parents and his disorder. It made Mickey feel guilty for keeping everything for him. He knew he couldn't share the whole truth, but he decided to let him in, just a little bit.

“I'd like to tell you something, too.”

“Fuck,” Ian said, pulling away. “You're a serial killer who only picks redheads and you didn't kill me because you liked me, but now you're getting bored with me and want to add me to your collection of bodies?”

At least they were back to joking. “Really fucking funny. Dickhead.”

“Sorry,” Ian said, laughing. “Wanted to lighten it up a little. But seriously, whatever you want to tell me, go ahead.”

“Um,” Mickey said, suddenly nervous about how to put it. “There's someone I want you to meet. She's… Important to me, you know? And she's the reason I've been so worried these past few weeks. Her memory is acting up and she's refusing hospice, and I… Fuck, sorry. I just feel so useless.” He didn't mean to break in front of Ian, and so he tried to stop the tears from falling. He'd wait until he's alone. He couldn't even tell Ian why it hurt so much.

“Of course. I'd love to meet her. And I'm really sorry, Mickey. Hey,” he said, changing their position so that he could hug Mickey close to himself. “What's her name?”

Mickey took a deep breath to make sure his voice wouldn't break. “Inna.” After a moment, knowing that he wouldn't handle the pain of saying she was his grandmother right now, he added. “She's family.”

 

It was still the beginning of the week, and the two agreed to meet Inna before the Friday's dinner at the Gallagher's. Mickey called her after Ian had left, making sure she was up to it. She seemed very excited, but there was something off about her voice. Mickey then talked to Angela but she said it's just the higher dose of meds she just took. She had heart problems, too, which is why she had to take so many pills, and Mickey was more than grateful for Angela. He was sure that no one could take care of his daughter that well.

They decided to meet up in a cosy little place where they went every now and then, mostly because it was close to Inna's place.

On Wednesday, Mickey would pick her up and then the two of them would wait for Ian in the restaurant. She really did seem better to Mickey, and she didn't mind playing along once Mickey told her Ian didn't know yet.

“Who did you tell him I was, then?” She asked once they walked into the restaurant, picking a table in the back where it wasn't so full.

“Family,” he said simply, and Inna smiled at him in a way that reminded him of her mother so much, he almost bumped into his chair.

“Well… we could say that I used to take care of you when you were younger. I take it you told him you didn't have any family, right?”

“Yeah. That's a good idea. It's not… It won't matter to him, our past. I said you're important, and he gets that.”

When Ian got there, he spotted Mickey immediately, and soon he was making his way to them through the tables.

Inna smiled brightly and then winked at Mickey approvingly when Ian greeted them.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at Mickey and then turning to Inna. “Hi, I'm Ian. It's so nice to meet you,” he said, and, honest to God, kissed the top of her hand. Inna giggled like a high-schooler (like Mandy used to), and it was such a nice sound that he just couldn't stop smiling.

“Oh, you're charming! Mickey told me all about you. I'm Inna,” she said as they both sat down. Ian moved his chair closer to Mickey and bumped their legs together, smiling.

It could have been that Ian was such an easy-going person, able to talk to almost anybody and make them love him within minutes, but to Mickey, it seemed as though he and Inna just _clicked_.

Mickey was worrying about it for so long that it surprised him once the lunch was over. Nothing awful had happened, the world hadn't stopped spinning. Inna adored Ian and Mickey felt as though he was flying, and none of them slipped in their story once. Inna's memories did get a little mixed up a few times, but Mickey always helped her out until it passed.

They had fun together like they always did, and Ian fit into the picture effortlessly and perfectly.

“Thank you, boys, but Angela wanted us to go to the park later and you know how she gets when I'm late… Anyway, you two need to go to work, right? It was a lovely lunch, though.”

“She gonna pick you up?” Mickey asked, rolling his eyes when Inna once again checked her phone. “Yup,” she said.

“Yup? Really? You gonna use LOL in a sentence now?”

“Oh come on, I'm being modern! It's not a crime.”

Ian laughed at their bickering the whole time, and the two of them didn't stop until they were out on the sidewalk, walking to Angela's ever-present car.

“See you soon, Mickey,” she whispered when they hugged good-bye and then, quietly, “This is a good one. Don't blow it, dad.”

He nodded and smiled at her when she gave Ian a hug, too, and then they waved her and Angela good-bye. She flipped Mickey off in response and he blew her a kiss, high on happiness.

“What?” he asked when he heard Ian laughing next to him. He leant into Ian's side as they walked over to the car.

“Nothing. She's just… Wow. She's awesome. Reminds me of you so much.”

Without a word, Mickey pulled him in a kissed him clumsily, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“Yeah, I know. And she totally loves you.”

“I'm charming like that.” Ian beamed, puffing his chest like the moron he was.

“She's always had a shitty taste… Ouch! That hurt, asshole!”

 

When Friday came, Mickey found himself becoming more and more nervous. He instantly regretted asking Karen for advice, but she ended up being a pretty good listener to his worried rants. She didn't even make fun of him, seeing how distressed he wants, and she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly on her way out, leaving Mickey alone to wait for Ian.

“You've got this, Mickey. They're gonna love you.” She grinned, turning around and walking away backwards. “Just don't blow it!” She added for good measure and flipped him off before disappearing on the stairs.

Just minutes later, Ian walked into his never-locked apartment. He looked casual, not wearing anything fancy, and Mickey was feeling much better, knowing that he wasn't underdressed.

“Hey,” he said, letting Ian pull him into a greeting kiss. It was hard to stop at one, and before they were full on making out and disregarding their clothes, Ian pulled away grumpily.

“We gotta go. Fuck. Can't we just ditch them and stay in bed all day?”

“Nope,” Mickey said, biting Ian's lip before letting go. “I want to see the house you grew up in. Would it be too weird to fuck on your childhood bed? Or any other bed, in your old house?”

“I like the way you think,” Ian laughed, taking his hand as they were walking out.

Mickey _did_ end up blowing Ian in the car, but he threatened to strangle him if he touched his hair. He actually put an effort into styling it for once, no way was he letting Ian ruin it with his perfect fucking hands.

“Here we are,” Ian exclaimed after a two-hour drive to the South Side of Chicago. Mickey had lived there for a while four decades earlier before he left Chicago for the second time, and the neighbourhood hasn't changed much, if at all.

“This your house?” he asked, gesturing at the one in front of them.

“Yup. Let's go.” Ian got out of the car and Mickey followed him to the barely-standing gate and up the stairs. They didn't knock, just walked right in, and Mickey had to admit that though the place was messy and, frankly, kind of a dump, he liked it immediately. It was filled with life and years and years' worth of memories, judging from the many photographs on the walls.

“Oh my God! Ian!” a loud, woman's voice got Mickey's attention. She – Fiona, Mickey assumed – was already clutching Ian in a tight hug, almost squeezing the life out of him.

“Fi, come on, I can't breathe,” he laughed, pulling her away slightly.

“Fuck, sorry. It's been a long time! Haven't seen you in two months. Are you the reason why my brother completely abandoned me?” she asked suddenly, turning to Mickey, but she was smiling.

“Don't make him run for the hills just yet, Fi, we barely got here. Lip here?” Ian asked, walking by his sister and to the kitchen.

“Yeah, upstairs. Also, I'm Fiona,” she said, reaching out her hand which Mickey shook, feeling awkward as hell. “Mickey,” he muttered, shifting nervously.

“Mick! Come meet the rest of the freaks!” Ian yelled from the kitchen and Mickey relaxed visibly as soon as he heard his voice. He followed Fiona to the kitchen and stood next to Ian when they got there.

There were two guys coming down the stairs who Mickey guessed were Ian's brothers, Lip and Carl, and a younger one sitting by the table had to be Liam.

All of them exchanged hugs with Ian and Mickey nodded back at them when they greeted him. They seemed unfazed by his presence as they started sitting down and bringing food to the table. Ian sat down next to Mickey once he was done arguing with Fiona over something, and he didn't let go of his hand throughout the whole dinner.

They were loud and always arguing about something, but it was obvious that they all loved each other.

“Where's Debs?” Lip asked, popping open a can of coke.

“She and Neil took Franny school-shopping. Can't believe she's going to school already,” Fiona said, looking suddenly sad for a while.

Ian told Mickey about his younger sister – he told him about all of his siblings, actually – but he didn't mention her having a kid.

The one Gallagher Mickey found himself liking the most (apart from Ian, obviously), was Carl. They had no problem with finding a topic for conversation, which surprised Mickey a bit, but he genuinely enjoyed talking to him.

“What's 'Mickey' short for, anyway?” Carl asked when he, Mickey and Ian were chilling on the couch, waiting for Lip and Fiona to stop fighting (again).

“Uh,” he said, glancing at Ian because he realized he never really told him. “Mikhailo, actually.” It felt weird to say the name aloud, especially because it used to be his middle name. He didn't usually use any name that might connect him to the boy who was born all those years ago, but since it was just a middle name, he didn't think much about it before asking his guy for yet another fake ID.

“Wow,” Ian and Carl said in unison, making each other laugh. “You didn't know?” Carl asked Ian, who shrugged, shaking his head.

“Just assumed it was Michael. You know, like a regular human being without some weird ass name.”

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey said, nudging Ian in the ribs.

After a few minutes, Fiona joined them in the living room, saying that Lip went for a walk.

“He's just pissed because he lost your bet. How fucking typical,” Carl groaned loudly. Fiona ignored him and sat down next to Ian.

“Frank came back,” she said without missing a beat, and Mickey could feel Ian tensing up next to him.

“That was smooth, Fi. You really prepared him for it.”

Mickey was growing to like Carl more and more.

Ian seemed to have recovered from his shock because he laughed dryly. “It's okay. Did he try to move back in here or what?”

Fiona glanced at Carl who just raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. Finally, she sighed and admitted what Ian had suspected. “No, he was looking for you. But he doesn't know where you live. Just thought I'd let you know in case he found out, somehow. I mean, it's Frank. I was honestly hoping he was dead this time.”

“Fucking cockroach,” Ian sighed, “always finds a way to ruin the day.”

“Hey,” Fiona bumped his shoulder, frowning. “He's not gonna ruin ours. Whenever you feel like shit about Frank, you can always find something positive in the knowledge that he's not really your dad.”

“What?” Mickey asked, not wanting to interrupt but still too curious not to ask.

“Oh,” Ian said, scrunching up his face. “I actually forgot about that. We made some DNA tests when we were kids, turns out Frank's brother must have banged our mom and she never told him. Frank probably doesn't know that,” he said shrugging.

“He could have guessed though,” Fiona said, laughing. “You look nothing like him. Clayton, however…” They both laughed at that.

Ian looked at Mickey and said, “Let's have Mickey find out which one I resemble more. You got any pictures of the two of them here?”

“Yeah, wait here,” Fiona jumped up and walked up the stairs. She returned a few minutes later, handing Mickey a picture. “I couldn't find any of them alone, but this one has Frank and all his brothers on it. These are your guesses,” she said, pointing at the two young men on the right.

One of them was plain looking and nothing like either of the siblings, but if Mickey looked closer, he thought he could see his resemblance with Lip. Maybe.

Then, he looked at the other man and his breath hitched. His vision went a bit blurry and he heard Ian's voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He thought he fell from the couch, but he wasn't sure. Everything was blurry and numb and distant, and Mickey was still clutching the photograph, looking at the man's face but seeing it different, older, with smile wrinkles and longer hair and…

 _Clayton_. It all made sense now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger, next chapter will hopefully clear it up


	4. Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a flashback, a missing piece. a fragment of history. an open wound.

**_Chapter 4: Unsaid_ **

 

_“How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?” xxx  
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. We both know that’s bullshit; it comes from people who have nothing comforting or original to say.”_

_― Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me_

 

 

**June 24 th, 1975**

 

 

The music was the absolute worst. The fashion, he could get used to. Hell, he survived the stuffy twenties, nothing comes even close to the horrors of that age, thank you very much.

But sweet _Jesus,_ the music.

The seventies were still raging and he had no intention of coming back to Chicago after having lived his childhood years there and spending a decade there just a few years earlier, but no matter what, he still had to work and the opportunity he got was not easy to refuse. After getting his third degree, he realized that school wasn't really for him (especially since he always had to start again from scratch), and he enjoyed working with his hands more than anything. After working as an accountant for the last ten years in New York, he really needed a change.

He's only been back to the city for two months, though, and the apartment he managed to find was an absolute dump. He was looking forward to moving to something better, and up until then, he usually spent his nights out in bars. He felt bad about leaving Inna behind in New York, but she insisted that she wanted to live her own life, alone.

And so here he was, flashing his brand new ID – with a plain, ordinary, _trying-too-hard-to-be-forgettable_ name. Matthew Smith. He got sick every time he looked at it, but he couldn't risk being recognised, it was too soon to be back.

The bars he usually frequented when he lived in Chicago earlier were mostly gone now, and so he tried to go to a new one every night, trying to find something worth visiting more than once.

That something happened to be a small joint named _Garage_. How fucking fitting, a mechanic drinking his nights away in a Garage.

He – Matthew, Matt, what-fucking-ever, he'd have to get used to the name soon – was there on that night, too. He was almost finished with his third beer and was about to move on to something harder, itching for the blissful state of limbo to take over his preoccupied mind.

But he's been doing good, so good. He wasn't gonna drink like that again. It's only until his life starts making some sense again.

“Another,” he said, putting the empty glass on the counter. The bartender nodded and started refilling his glass, but then the shitty music coming from the shitty speakers was interrupted by a series of curses and a loud yell.

“What's that?” Matt asked, but the bartender just shrugged it off, unfazed.

“Just some pub fight, by the sounds of it. It's better not to get involved.”

Matt nodded, but as the sounds continued and he could make out some of the words being thrown, his heart beat started picking up.

“—fucking faggot! Wanna say that again? Huh? No queer fucker will speak to me like that!”

He never touched his refill. Instead, Matt got up and, after leaving a few bills on the counter, stormed out of the bar from the back where he heard the sounds.

“Hey, fuck-heads!” he yelled loudly, kicking the door closed behind himself to get their attention. There were three of them but, by the look at them, he could easily take them out. The guy on the ground they had just been kicking, however, was not a barely moving victim Matt had anticipated.

“Get your gross hands off of me you dumb fuck! Jesus Christ, fucking finally, I've been yelling my lungs out for over fifteen minutes before someone showed up! Un-fucking-believable.”

The guy was fidgeting and huffing while Matt landed a few good punches on the two idiots who were just gaping dumbly. Meanwhile, he took down the one who was holding him in a lockdown and soon they were standing side by side, breathing heavily while those three were running away.

“Fucking faggots!” They yelled once they were far enough, and the guy on Matt's right just laughed, whistling.

“At least I'm getting some! Unlike you, ugly fucks!”

He was still laughing even when they were gone, not minding the blood dripping down his face from his likely broken nose. He was tall and seemed strong enough, but three on one is a hell of an overpowering.

“And you,” he said, turning to Matt with a lopsided grin. “Thanks, man. Tried to fight them off but they've got more muscle than brains.”

“No problem. Always feels good to kick some ass, especially if it's idiots like those three. You good?” he asked, motioning at the guy's face but he just shrugged, nodding.  
“Yeah, I've had worse. I'm Clayton, and before you laugh, I know it sounds stupid,” he reached out a hand for Matt to shake, who did so while trying to suppress a laugh.

“It does sound kinda stupid. Well, I'm Matt.” He offered his name with a grimace that he hoped Clayton hadn't noticed.

“So, Matt. Wanna grab a beer?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

“But let's go somewhere else. I'm not really keen on sitting amongst assholes who would have let me bleed out to death out here. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Nah. Let's just hope we stumble upon something,” Matt said, grinning as the two of them started walking down the long street.

They ended up walking for a few more minutes before finding another bar, and as one beer turned into two, turned into three, turned into five? Matt didn't really care. They had fun. He forced Clayton to go and get his face cleaned up in a bathroom, knowing how much it sucked to leave the blood dry on your face.

Matt didn't know what he was doing, not really, but he knew for sure that it was better than drinking alone and then going to his empty apartment, alone, only to wake up on his own and begin another shitty, uneventful day.

“Seriously man, you move to Chicago and get a place in the shittiest part of it. How fucking smart. Do you wish to get robbed?”

Laughing, Matt tried to punch his arm but missed, ending up landing a punch on the back of his chair instead.

“It's just temporary. Gotta make some decent money first, you know how it goes. Where do you live?”

Clayton gestured for the bartender to get them both a refill before answering. “Still a dump but slightly more up north. People are assholes there, too, no worries.”

It was… apparent that Clayton was interested in him. Matt found it surprising because it was unusual for men to take any sort of interest if it wasn't in a gay bar or someplace like that, and that was kinda risky now, anyway. The beatings like the one he just witnessed were practically the norm.

The fact that this was so different from what he usually did… Not just a quick fuck and goodbye, but an actual conversation with someone he actually enjoyed spending time with, whom he found funny and exciting and so not what he had expected when he went out that night… It made him feel hopeful, maybe? Anticipating?

“Ugh, I think I've had enough beer for the whole week. Jesus,” Clayton said, laughing as he swayed from side to side. They were walking down the street, on their way to the L-train, and Matt was seemingly less drunk than Clayton. At least he had an opportunity to stare at the other man, unafraid of being caught and having to be faced with one of Clayton's smug, witty responses.

“Okay man, let's get you up there. You're barely walking, what a lightweight,” he said, motioning Clayton towards the station while trying not to lose his own balance since Clayton was dragging them both from left to right.

“Fuck,” he laughed, leaning his face into Matt's neck once they sat down on the bench, waiting for the train. “Why'd I get so fucked up from a few beers? And why didn't you? Huh? Now my… oh, god… now my plans are ruined. Wanted to bring you home. Fuck, if you punch me now, I swear to God, I'll puke on you.”

“My favourite shirt? You wouldn't,” Matt replied jokingly, ignoring the excitement at the confirmation that Clayton wanted him.

“Guess we'll never find out. You haven't punched me. Does that mean you'll leave me your number for when I've sobered up?”

Matt took a while before answering, using the incoming train as a distraction, but once they were both safely inside, sitting next to each other mostly alone, he took a breath and said.

“Yeah. I'd write it on your forearm with a sharpie to leave a good impression, but since we're not in a romcom, hope this will do.”

Then, he pulled out a notebook he kept in his back pocket and scribbled down his number before handing it to Clayton.

 

Six months and three weeks later, Matt was still living in Chicago. Except that he wasn't living alone, and he wasn't living with Inna, either. He and Clayton had moved in together a month ago, and in many ways, Clayton was making Matt remember his past in ways he never thought he would have.

He was quickly becoming his best friend. Sometimes, they'd spend hours just talking, exactly like on that first night when they met, and each time, Matt felt like he could talk to him for years at a time. The thing between them was a mind-blowing, strong, head-spinning kind of high, and without ever meaning it to happen… Without ever allowing himself to drop his shield so easily, he realized he was falling in love.

In the beginning, whenever he felt the growing feeling inside when he looked at Clayton, he felt guilty. The guilt was crossed with confusion, because he only ever felt that kind of love once before, with the boy who had died because of him all those years ago.

But with every day, week, month passing, he was sure that this was different. It was love, nonetheless real than what he felt before, but it wasn't the same, either. And he thought that maybe, this was it. This was his happily ever after. Maybe he'll get to have a future with Clayton that he'd never even dared to wish for.

Which is why it hurt so much when, in the end, he had to leave.

Had to, because even though moving in together was a big step, just as knowing he loved Clayton was, he couldn't do that to him.

“I love you,” Clayton said, and Matt wanted nothing else than to ask him to never stop saying those words, wanted to say them back, whisper them, draw them on his skin with thousands of kisses.

But the reality of it all hit him right then. They've been together for half a year. They could be together for ten more, tops, but then, people would start noticing. Clayton would notice. He'd never change, never age, never move on.

It was better to leave. Safer. It was the right thing to do _because_ he loved Clayton.

And so he didn't reply right away.

_I love you_ , he whispered before leaving the apartment forever. Clayton was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the fact that they'd never see each other again.

He smiled at the man he loved, packed his things and left, ignoring the tears he felt rolling down his face, ignoring every cell of his body screaming at him to come back. He just kept going, train after train, then a bank where he took out all of his money.

Then an airport.

Matthew Smith no longer existed. And Aleksandr felt like he was being torn apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really, really short, sorry! I'll update the next one extra soon to make up for it xx


	5. Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what if, when you find it - something you didn't even know you were looking for - what if it starts slipping through your fingers like sand? what then? 
> 
> do you let go? will you?

**_Chapter 5: Cinnamon_ **

 

_“People are complicated puzzles, always trying to piece together a complete picture, but sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes we’re left unfinished. Sometimes that’s for the best. Some pieces can’t be forced into a puzzle, or at least they shouldn’t be because they won’t make sense.”_

_― Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me_

 

 

****

****

“Are you sure you're okay? You could stay a bit longer or even spend the night… There's a room upstairs and Lip could crash with Liam, I'm sure they wouldn't…”

“Fi,” Ian interrupted her, keeping his voice calm.

“It's okay. Just got a little dizzy. Thanks for having me around, really, it was nice, but I'd like to go home and crash.” It wasn't a lie. Mickey wanted nothing else than to just get out of that house, go to his or Ian's, cuddle up with him and stop all the thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. It was hard to focus on anything Fiona was saying and he was glad that Ian picked up on his distress.

“It's better that way, Fi. We'll stop by some other time. Tell Lip I said hi, okay? And take care, all of you.”

Fiona nodded eventually, standing up from the couch where she was sitting next to Mickey and fussing around ever since he came back to himself.

Mickey got up himself, hating that the motion almost made him sway again, but the steady presence of Ian by his side as they walked to the door kept him upwards. He sent what he hoped was a thankful smile Fiona' way, but he didn't really know whether she's seen it.

And then, finally, he was sitting in the car, sighing as Ian started the engine and took off from the curb.

Mickey was grateful for the quiet. Ian didn't say a word until they had arrived at his place, and the only thing he said once they got there was _Need help getting out?_ , to which Mickey just shook his head.

The dizziness was gone, mostly, but he felt weak for a whole different reason. He didn't know what to tell Ian. He hoped Ian would just drop it, but the silence was freaking him out a bit. He knew that Ian liked to pry, to fuss, but he barely looked at Mickey since he had passed out and woken up in his sister's house.

Once they were inside, Ian muttered something about coffee and left, but made sure that Mickey was safely sat on the bed before doing so. It was awkward and uncomfortable and Mickey wished this sudden tension between them would just disappear. He wasn't ready to think about the picture yet, and he didn't know why Ian was acting the way he did, but mostly he was just tired. Completely drained.

Wordlessly, Ian walked in and put the tray on the bed before sitting down and leaning against the headboard. Mickey did the same and picked up one of the mugs, handed it to Ian, then took the other one up to his lips.

“Cinnamon?” he whispered, the smell of it mixing with the familiar scent of coffee.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Hope you're not allergic or something. It's a habit of mine, I guess. Feels grounding. Familiar.”

Mickey nodded, swallowing dryly. Then, he took a sip of the cinnamon coffee, watching Ian drink his own in silence.

“There's something you're not telling me,” Ian said in the same calm voice, not looking up from the coffee, almost as if he was talking to himself. “I know it's not been very long, but I like you, Mickey. A lot. And these past few weeks have been… incredible. We could really have something good going on between us, you know? But there are things about you that just… Don't click, I guess. You don't talk to me about stuff. Sometimes, I see that there's something bothering you, or that you're off somewhere else, but as soon as I try to get through to you, you build these walls around yourself and I just… I can't do that, Mick. I can't do with secrets. It's okay if you don't trust me with some things, if we're not there just yet, but you gotta talk to me. Otherwise, it's not gonna work and I'd _hate_ that, because I… I care about you, okay?”

Sometime throughout his speech, Ian dropped the demeanour, and now he was looking right at Mickey, his eyes piercing and honest and true. If Mickey had been feeling awful before, it was nothing in comparison to this – because Ian was hurting because of him. And if Mickey weren't selfish, he'd walk away, then and there, try to spare Ian any future heartbreak because that's what it was all leading up to.

 _There'll always be secrets with me_ , he'd say, and Ian would nod and send him away, and maybe he'd be hurt for a little while, but eventually, he'd get past it.

But Mickey _was_ selfish. He's been running away his whole life, always leaving people behind and ruining any chance of happiness or closure for himself, only because he believed that he could never truly have any of those things. He still didn't think that, but he knew that leaving Ian now was not an option. He wasn't strong enough.

“I'm sorry,” was what he said instead. He knew he should say more, but the words were spilling away from him and when Ian closed his eyes, Mickey was sure he'd ask him to leave.

“Let's sleep. You gotta be tired. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Mickey said after a few moments of silence. Ian smiled and licked his lips, then leant in, kissing Mickey gently, deeply, as if he was trying to ground him. Or keep him from leaving.

When they broke apart, they took their clothes off and put the lights out, then pulled the blankets over themselves and laid together, unmoving. Mickey let himself dwell on that steadiness, breathing in and out in sync with Ian.

“I don't want this to end,” he whispered, face inches away from Ian's, and if Ian hadn't smiled softly, Mickey would have thought he was already asleep.

 

The morning felt like a chance for a new beginning, in more ways than one. Cinnamon coffee turned out to be a nice touch of comfort, and Mickey liked the fact that Ian had shared that with him.

“We should go out tonight,” Ian said while he was making breakfast. “I could take you someplace you've never been before.”

“In this city? I doubt it.”

“You'll see for yourself,” he smirked, putting the plate on the table for Mickey to dig in. “You got any plans for today?”

“Not really. We could just spend it together?” Mickey replied, a bit unsure because of the previous day's events.

“That's the plan. I was thinking movies, some pizza later, then head to the city later? And we should talk, too.” He said it casually, not like it was a big deal, and Mickey tried not to make it one.

“Cool,” he said. “How did you get into cooking?” Mickey asked after a few moments, trying to bring back the morning bliss.

Ian shrugged, smiling a bit at the memory. “Most summers, when Fiona got a good gig and spent most days away, it kinda became my job. The kids were too young and Lip's an absolute disaster in the kitchen. I had to get creative often when the money was tight, but I never complained. It was fun, I started cooking more often to just help Fiona out, or just because I felt like it.”

“It certainly paid off,” Mickey grinned, finishing the rest of whatever it was that Ian put on his place. “This was fucking delicious.”

“I know,” Ian smirked before taking their plates to the sink.

Mickey stood up and stretched, then said, “I'm gonna take a shower.”

“Can I join?” Ian asked, already following Mickey to the bathroom.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

 

 

Two orgasms, three movies, one large pizza and a rather pointless rant about the ridiculousness of the superhero costumes in modern franchises, it was safe to say that Mickey felt genuinely happy. He didn't forget about the picture, nor about what Ian had said or about the premise of the talk they'd have to have soon, but the comfort he had been feeling with Ian since the beginning was now back, unchanged, despite the shit that was threatening to go down between them earlier.

“How did you come out?” Mickey asked Ian, thinking about the scene in a movie they had watched earlier. The reaction to the character's coming out was anything but good, but Ian's siblings seemed perfectly fine with Ian's sexuality.

“Uh,” Ian said, laughing. “I think Fiona always knew. That's what she told me after I finally told her, at least, and the only one who seemed genuinely surprised was Lip. He found some of my porn when I was fifteen. It was awkward but nothing in comparison to his reaction when he found out I was screwing my boss… But they're all cool with it. Luckily,” he finished, still smiling.

“That's great,” Mickey said, happy for the fact that Ian's family was supportive. “But wait, your boss?”

Ian rolled his eyes, snorting. “Oh come on, growing up where I did, it was a miracle to find someone else who was gay.”

That, Mickey could understand. “How much older was he?”

“I don't know, actually. Never asked his age… I was fifteen though, it went on for a year or so, then I fell for this kid at school and dumped him. That didn't last very long, either, since we couldn't really be out together. Let's just say I was more than thrilled to get out of that neighbourhood.”

Mickey decided not to comment further on the fact that Ian was sleeping with someone much older at _fifteen…_ But it still made him uncomfortable when he thought about it. Ian pulled him out of his thoughts when he asked, “What about you?”

Knowing that he was walking on thin ice, Mickey tried to be as honest as possible.

“I grew up in a similar place, plus my dad was a giant asshole when he was alive. Never even crossed my mind to tell him.”

“So you never told anyone until you left?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah. But I didn't care about any of those people. After dad had died and I left the country, I still wasn't very open about it, but I told my friends whenever I made some. Had some relationships…” He cut himself off before saying anything else.

“Tell me something else,” Ian said, “something I don't know about you.” Mickey had an idea where this was coming from, but it was mostly just a good feeling, knowing that Ian wanted to know stuff about him. People didn't usually stick around long enough to do so.

“I, uh…” he looked around, hoping to think of something to say. “I play the guitar. Used to be in a band when I was younger. We were absolutely awful,” he laughed, remembering the shitty songs he and his friends used to play.

“That awful?” Ian asked, nudging him. “What a shame. Was hoping you'd play something for me once.”

“Oh trust me, you wouldn't want that. Your turn. Something I don't know?”

“Uh, I wanted to join the army.”

“Really?” Mickey asked, trying to picture Ian in a uniform. It wasn't a bad image at all.

“Yeah,” Ian said, frowning. “I've done it all. ROTC, training every day. Spent all summer improving my grades so that I could get to West Point.”

“What happened?”

“I didn't get in. Then, when some shit went down in my family and Monica came back for a while, she tried to help me to enlist, but you gotta be eighteen. I couldn't stand it at home and so I found a way around it. Enlisted under Lip's name, stole his ID and all that.”

Mickey wasn't sure where this story was headed, but he could see it was making Ian sad, talking about it. They were sitting on the couch, soft music playing from the kitchen speakers, pressed together so that there wasn't a spare inch between them. Mickey lifted their joined hands and kissed Ian's knuckles, which seemed to have brought Ian back to present.

“Sorry. I spaced out,” he said, sighing. “It's just that it was a hard time. It's when I found out I was bipolar.” Despite the fact that Mickey's reaction the first time was positive, Ian always glanced at him from the corner of his eye when he said it aloud, or when he excused himself to take his pills, as if he was expecting Mickey to flee. It made him wonder if that had been the case with someone Ian had been with before, and he wanted to ask, sometime.

“How?” he asked instead, not wanting to push, but Ian didn't seem so lost in his thoughts anymore.

“I started acting manic. Tried to steal a helicopter, went AWOL. My family hadn't heard from me since I'd ran away and enlisted, and after the whole incident, I lived with Monica for a while. I had no idea what it was at the time, and nothing seemed off to me. I just felt like I could do anything, like I was unstoppable.”

Mickey nodded in understanding. They'd had a few talks about Ian's illness where he explained the details of it because even though Mickey had a general idea, it was different for anyone. Ian had said that the meds weren't perfect and that they had to change his dosage every once in a while, if he started noticing the symptoms or acting strangely.

“AWOL? That's pretty serious, isn't it? And how did your family find you then?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah, you could get up to five years for that. That's actually how they found out. I used to text every two weeks or so, saying that I was doing okay, never anything too revealing. But when I left, the Military Police went looking for me. They found Lip who was at college at the time and he told them some bullshit, said he didn't know me and that I just probably stole his identity. After that, he and Debbie went looking for me. Somehow, they found out I had been staying with an old friend before I met Monica, and he told them where to find me. I was… a mess, to put it lightly,” Ian chuckled dryly.

“They found me at a gay club where I was working at the time. I refused to go home or even talk to them… It's kinda blurry, all that was happening while I was manic, most of what I know, I know from Lip. Like I said, I wouldn't leave with them and eventually, they got kicked out. So I kept working there, went from bartending to dancing and performing. Got into some drugs and done loads of stupid shit. The police found me passed out outside the club once, and one of the cops was an old family friend, so he just brought me home. Everyone noticed that something was up, I started having delusions… fell into depression which eventually made it all click for my siblings. I refused the diagnosis at first, didn't want to take the meds. I slipped a few times the first two years, flushing them or lying about taking them, but eventually, I got my shit together, got stable. Yeah, I'd say that's it,” Ian said, sighing and looking up at Mickey who quickly changed his shocked expression into a neutral one.

“That's my story. The shit I'm ashamed of. There's more to it, a lot of stories about how I hurt my family when all they did was try to help me, and I'd tell you all about it if you wanted. This, though, felt important to share. Because that's the ugly side of my past. It's not fair to ask you to be honest if I don't do the same.”

“Ian…” Mickey said. He didn't know what else to say, because Ian was breathing fast now, and he was blinking away the tears while letting out another humourless laugh.

“No, you're right. Why not get it off the table at once, huh? I mean, I'm requesting a lot here, I guess, so it's only fair that I tell you all this, right?” Ian was standing up now, unable to sit motionlessly any longer.

“Ian, please, you don't have to…”

But he was cut off before he got a chance to finish.

“No,” he said, stopping his pacing and facing Mickey, his hands trembling. “I'm not the one hiding, Mickey. So yeah, I'll tell you. How I used to suck off random guys in exchange for drugs, or fifty bucks if I was lucky. How, when I got home and saw that there was no money, I decided to start shooting porn to get it. And yeah, of course, it was the mania, but I still fucking did it, right? It was me who almost hit my little sister with a _baseball bat_ because I thought the MPs were after me! It was me who ran away from the mental health institution after I _kidnapped_ a baby! It was me who lied to my family about taking my meds and then tried to kill myself because I fell into the deepest fucking depression! So yeah, you've got the whole picture now.”

Mickey didn't know when he started crying. Ian was trembling, looking at him and waiting, waiting for Mickey to say something.

“Lip said that he did some digging. It was a shitty move and I already gave him hell for it, but… He had your name traced, Mickey. And there's nothing. No sign of you existing, no mention of you in the schools you said you went to. Nothing. I don't know what any of that means, but I know you've been lying and if I'm not worth you being honest with me, then you need to fucking man up and say it,” Ian said quietly. All the anger was gone from his demeanour, his voice.

Mickey was shocked. Ian was still looking at him and Mickey had to fight the urge to run away. This wasn't supposed to happen. He should have known better, should have left before Ian started developing feelings for him. Because that's what this was, right? Neither of them had to say it for Mickey to know that there was something going on.

He had to make a decision – tell the truth, or leave. He didn't not how to _not_ leave.

But this was _Ian_. Hurt and vulnerable and yet so determined to make this right, to let Mickey explain so that they could forget about this and move on.

“You're worth everything,” was what he said instead. Ian's eyes widened in surprise but he didn't say anything, so Mickey continued. “There are things about me that I haven't told you. In the past, whenever I was with someone and it came up, I just… ran away. And I don't want to run away this time. I can't tell you everything, but I can try to give you some answers.”

Ian still wasn't saying anything, but after a few agonizing seconds, he nodded.

Then, Mickey's phone rang.

Without looking away from Ian, he picked it up and said, “Yes?”

“Mickey, it's Angela. It's bad. You need to come, _now_.”

It's as if the whole world went black for a while. All he could think about was _Is she okay? Is she hurt? What's happening?_

“Mickey?”

“I… I'm coming.”

He hung up and, glancing at Ian one last time, he turned around and ran.

 _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say, but he didn't. The tears were blurring his vision. He thought he might have heard Ian call out his name, but he didn't stop. His phone probably rang, but he didn't pick up. He started the car by muscle memory.

_Please, let her be okay. Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another chapter.  
> Hope you liked it xx


	6. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's never been this hard to let go

**_Chapter 6: Stay_ **

 

_“Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?”_

_― Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You the Sun_

****

 

He threw open the door, knowing it'd be unlocked. The scene in front of his eyes was heartbreaking.

“Inna, please, I'm not trying to…”

“GET OUT! Leave me alone! Just… NO!” Inna was yelling and shaking with violent sobs, holding up a metal box, her arms shaking under its weight. She was standing in the corner and Angela was a few feet away from her, arms raised up high, a worried expression on her face.

She looked at Mickey when she had heard the door.

“Mickey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I couldn't… She just started…”

He walked in and stopped by Angela's side, noticing blood on her forehead, but then his attention snapped back to his daughter.

She was crying, the fear transforming her face into a terrified mask. Mickey had already seen her like this once, but he hoped this was different.

“Inna?” he said quietly, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “Inna, do you know who I am?”

“GET AWAY FROM ME! I want—No! I want you to leave! I want... PLEASE!”

She looked at him, eyes wide with fear. Mickey knew that it wasn't real, that she had forgotten, but that look almost caused him to cry out. It hurt, it hurt so much, but he had to be strong. He had to help her, or she could hurt herself.

He looked at Angela who hadn't moved since he stepped into the room.

“I called her doctor. He said he's on his way, said he'd call the ambulance. I'm sorry, Mickey.”

He shook his head, hoping she'll understand that he didn't blame her, of course not. This was nobody's fault.

They had to get her to calm down.

“Ma'am,” he said, ignoring the pain. Inna looked at him again, still crying, but not shouting at him like before. “I'm sorry we scared you. We won't get any closer, okay? We'll leave you alone in a while, but I need you to put down that box, alright? It's gonna be okay.” He raised his arms, too, and stepped back, motioning for Angela to do the same.

Inna wasn't moving, just staring at them, mouth moving but no words coming out.

Then, she started putting the box down, slowly. Mickey held his breath, not daring to move. He didn't know what to do.

“Thank you,” he said, causing Inna to yelp in shock. Then, she started screaming, and before he could register what was happening, she started running towards the door. She didn't notice the coffee table crossing her path, and Mickey wasn't quick enough to catch her when she fell. For a few agonizing seconds, she didn't move.

Then, the door opened again, Doctor Harris making his way to them, and Inna finally moved.

“It's okay, it's okay, don't get up. Inna, Inna, Inna,” Mickey kept saying her name, over and over. He was afraid that she had hurt her spine, afraid that she'd start panicking again, but the strange calmness was even worse. She was just staring, unmoving.

“Doctor?” he said, not looking away from her.

“It's gonna be okay,” was all Doctor Harris said, and Mickey wanted to punch him.

The ambulance arrived and they had taken her to the hospital. Mickey felt on the verge of breaking apart. Angela stayed with him in the waiting room until the doctor came out and told them that she's not hurt, just in shock, and that they put her on sedatives so that she'd calm down.

“Is she okay?” he asked, knowing that that's what the doctor just said, basically, but needing the confirmation more than anything. He didn't even notice that he was clutching Angela' hand.

“Yes. She'll be out for a few hours, though. You can wait here until she wakes up.”

Mickey told Angela to go home then, and after a few minutes of protests, she went. She looked tired and Mickey didn't want her to blame herself for any of it. He promised to let her know when Inna wakes up.

The hours while he was waiting were the most awful moments of his life. He thought about how he could lose her any second. She wasn't getting any younger, her memory was getting worse. She could get sick or forget to look both ways on a crossroad or forget to take her pills one day. There were too many what ifs, and he didn't know how to deal with the fact that she might leave one day. Not when he would be stuck there, still breathing, still young, while his daughter would be dead.

He wished for a second that Ian would be there with him. He had two missed calls from him, and a text message saying _Are you okay?_

But Mickey didn't reply, didn't call Ian back. What would he say?

Ian was right, after all. With Mickey, it would always be secrets and half-truths. Ian would never understand how he felt about Inna because he couldn't tell him. He'd never understand why he reacted the way he did when he saw Clayton's picture in his sister's house, finding out that it was Ian's father.

Ian was something he could never have. He thought he could steal himself a few months, years maybe, but when he thought about it now, he felt sick. Because eventually, they would fall in love. And then Mickey would leave. Even if he didn't, they could never have a future together. Even if he told him the truth, it wouldn't change the fact that he'd never change, never grow old, never move on.

And so when a doctor came out of the door, announcing that Inna has woken up, he made a decision. He went to his daughter's room, tears threatening to fall again.

“Dad. I'm sorry,” she said, and finally, he let go. They cried together, curled up on a hospital bed. Because he thought he had lost her. Because he will, one day. Because he lost Ian, too, even though he never really had him.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, the white streaks having long outnumbered the few black ones.

 

 

When Inna was released, Mickey decided to move in with her. It wouldn't be smart to have her move into a new place, and this way, he could watch over her, at least for a while. She wasn't very happy about it, feeling like he was making too big of a fuss, but Mickey couldn't help it.

He wanted to have her close. And he didn't want to be alone, either.

It's been eight days since it happened. Five days since Ian had called him the third time, not getting an answer. Four days since Mickey had seen him by accident, going unnoticed by Ian and disappearing into the crowd.

“Dad,” Inna said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You need to stop. I'm serious. I'm not going to break, okay? We knew this could happen. It had happened before. And I know there's something else bothering you. I know that you're hiding.”

“I'm not hiding,” he lied.

Inna snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. I know you better than anyone. You're doing it again. Whenever something happens, you do the same exact thing,” she said, causing him to look up from the spot on the wall he'd been staring at.

“Do what?” he asked

“Run. Hide. Leave. Disappear from existence, run away from the happiness once you finally find it. Aren't you tired of it?”

“Yes,” he said, surprising them both. “But it's what I have to do.”

“You know that's not true.”

“I don't know how not to, though. I don't know how to…” he swallowed dryly, looking at his hands. “Stay,” he said at last. “I can't do it, Inna. Everyone else is moving on with their lives, and I just can't keep up. I'm stuck. And I can't just… stay and watch everyone leave, okay? I can't do that. I'm not… strong like that.”

She sighed and sat closer to him, her eyes shining with tears.

“I want you to be happy, dad. I want you to live. You've been just existing for over a century. And I know that you're afraid. It's okay. But you can't keep pushing everyone away, or leave them behind. You don't have to keep up with anyone. But dad,” she said, the tears falling down her face. “You can't make that decision for them. Whether they want you in your life or not. You don't get to just decide that for them.”

The words hit him hard. No one's ever confronted him like that. He wanted to believe her.

“I'm scared,” he said.

“Everyone is,” she replied. “Now get out of my apartment. Angela will take care of me, like before. And if something happens, we deal with it. Together. We always do.”

“I don't want to leave you alone.”

“Again, you don't get to decide that for me. Now get out, and do what you have to do. Don't run away from him.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to argue with her, to demand that he take care of her instead. But she was right, it wasn't up to him.

Mickey nodded. “Okay. I'll try,” he said.

“Good luck.”

They called Angela and once she had arrived, Mickey left. It was almost impossible, but he did it. And there was only once place where he could go from there. Maybe he'd get rejected. Maybe he won't even find him. But he had to try. He promised.

 

 

When he knocked on Ian's door, he almost expected it not to open. Maybe Ian wouldn't be home, and he'd leave, thinking that it was fate.

But the door did open, and Ian was standing there, looking at him with a blank face, and Mickey was anything but ready to face him.

“Inna,” he said after a few more seconds of silence. “She was in the hospital. I stayed with her.” It wasn't the apology he meant to give him. It wasn't an explanation of why he never answered the calls. Mickey didn't know how else to begin.

“I know,” Ian said. “I went to your work because you wouldn't answer my calls. I was afraid you got hurt, so I went there and found out you got fired for not turning up. I recognised Karen and convinced her to give me Angela's number – I assumed that the call had something to do with Inna, and I was right. Angela told me everything.”

Ian opened the door and stood back, allowing Mickey in. After that, he leant against it and they stood there, looking at each other.

“I'm sorry,” Ian said. Mickey expected anything but that, but before he could ask what he meant, Ian continued. “I'm sorry about Inna. Hope she's doing better now. And I'm sorry you had to go through that, too. I wish I could have been there with you.”

“Ian,” he said, the pain leaking into his voice. “Please, don't apologize. I know I fucked up. I should have called you. I should have let you know, not Karen or Angela or… whatever. I shouldn't have just left you after all that you've told me. Ian, I'm so fucking sorry.”

Ian swallowed and frowned, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“I thought it was because of what I told you, at first. Before I found out about Inna. I thought you left because of it.”

Mickey wanted to reach out and hug him, but he didn't know if Ian would want that. He seemed so hurt. And Mickey would have to hurt him some more. But he can't leave now, can't. He has to try. For Ian's sake, for Inna's, for his.

“I'd never do that. What you told me doesn't matter to me. I don't look at you any differently because of it. And… before this all went down, right before Angela called me, I thought I could tell you. About me, the truth. But then I couldn't because I realized the consequences it could have. I decided to leave you instead. To run away, like I always do. But Inna almost kicked my ass. Talked some sense into me. And even though it's scary as hell, I want to try. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want me anymore, after all this, but I…” he paused and took a breath. “I want to tell you the truth because I think… no, I know… I'm falling in love with you, Ian. It scares the shit out of me, but it's true. I'm so fucking sorry for hurting you.”

Ian smiled, softly. He walked up to Mickey and rested their foreheads together. “I haven't given up on you before. I'm not doing it now. Thank you for coming back.”

“I love you”, Mickey said right before their lips connected, and he wasn't leaving. He wasn't saying it to a grave, he wasn't saying it to someone whom he'll never see again.

He was saying it to Ian, living and breathing and _real_ , right there, who had chosen to take him back even after he left.

Ian, who, once they were curled up together in bed, pressed tight against each other, said it back. “I love you, Mickey. Don't you dare leave me again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter (the next one will be as well)... then i'll come back to the usual 3k words per chapter :))   
> tell me what you think about the story so far, please! :3


	7. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So... I promised you the truth."

**_Chapter 7: The Truth_ **

 

_“I’d give in to the grief but make sure I wasn’t loud enough to draw attention from those who think words will make me feel better.”_

_― Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me_

 

 

****

Mickey had expected the morning to be tense. He had expected to find Ian standing above him, demanding the answers. Not that he'd blame him, he was in no position to do so.

But it was nothing like he imagined, of course.

He had told Ian he loved him and Ian had said those words back, and it stood for more than that. It was a promise, a mutual one, of sticking up for each other. Of fighting instead of fleeting.

Of being honest.

Which is why it surprised Mickey when Ian had woken him up with a kiss and a mug of steaming coffee, and it shouldn't have, not really.

But after having eaten breakfast together – Ian had taken a day off work and Mickey no longer had one, so they had nowhere to rush – Mickey felt like he owed it to Ian to start the conversation they had to have.

“So… I promised you the truth.”

Ian looked up at him and smiled. “Yes.” He didn't encourage him, just kept smiling, and so Mickey continued.

“I don't really know where to begin. Um.” How does one go about saying something like that? He didn't know. He should have prepared for it, but even though he had thought about what he'd say over and over, it was no easier in the end.

“Oh, wait. No. No, Mickey, I don't think I want to hear it.”

Again, Mickey was surprised. No, he was completely shocked. “What?” he blurted out.

Ian shrugged, but his face looked gentle. Compassionate. “Look, I know it's hard for you. Whatever it is you decided to tell me… It cost you a lot to make that decision. And you've already promised to stay. That's more than enough, Mick, for now. I don't want to ask for too much, I don't want you to realize that it's too much and you can't do it, because…”

“I'm not leaving,” Mickey cut him off. “I promised. That's not gonna change.”

Ian nodded, rubbing his face. “I believe you. But we can take this slow. I used to think that I can't really know a person without knowing everything there is to know about them, but maybe that's not true. Because I do know you. The important things. You don't know me any better after I have blurted out my past, do you? Why should I demand the same? Let's just… I don't know. Tell me something, when you feel like it. When it's something that you feel like sharing at the time, something the fear would have stopped you from sharing before.” 

“I know it's incredibly cliché, but it's true,” Mickey said as he stood up and crouched next to Ian who was still sitting at the kitchen table. He took Ian's face in his hands gently, leaning in closer and closer until they were breathing the same air. “You're too good to be true. And I don't feel like I deserve you. Thank you… for everything. For saying all that.”

“I love you,” Ian muttered before he closed the gap between them, kissing Mickey. And then, while crouching on the kitchen floor, being kissed like nothing else mattered by the man he loved, Mickey knew what he could tell him. What he will tell him.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling Ian up with him when he stood up. “There's something I want to tell you, but I need you to see something, first.”

“Are you sure?” Ian asked.

“Yes. I am.”

 

They got dressed and got into Mickey's car. Ian didn't ask where they were headed, and Mickey tried not to talk himself out of doing what he was about to do.

If Ian was surprised when they pulled over by the graveyard, he didn't tell. Mickey hadn't been there since his last visit to Chicago. It always came back to Chicago… Mickey stopped the car but stayed inside, not looking on his left where the gate was. Not yet. He had to make sure it was a good idea, first.

“I know what I want to tell you, but I'll understand if you don't want me to. It's a bit weird, maybe, but you've told me some of your most painful memories. You've shared that pain with me. I think I want to share mine with you, too. I… I've said I love you to someone, before. Two people. One of them is here,” he said, gesturing towards the graveyard. “The other I haven't seen in a very long time and I never really told him directly. So yeah, I want to tell you about…” saying the name aloud was harder. He decided to drop it and looked at Ian instead.

“Let's go. But… You don't have to. I just want you to know that.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Okay.”

Taking a breath and holding it to steady himself, Mickey got out of the car and waited for Ian before walking up to the gate and past the first graves. They went further and further, then up on the hill, then to the left and past the trees. Then, he could see it.

Mickey stopped when they reached it, and he didn't even notice that he was trembling before Ian reached out for his hand, steadying him.

The gravestone was old and worn out, and it didn't have any other information besides the name.

**_Evan Joseph, a beloved son_ **

He used to bring flowers there, but he hasn't done so in a long time. No one else has, either.

“This… may cause some questions that are a part of another talk, so just… Try not to focus on some details, okay? I'll tell you all of it, but not now.” He looked up to Ian for confirmation and was met with a gentle nod and a sad smile.

He smiled, too, before he started talking.

“I met Evan when I was fifteen. His father had some business with mine, and he often brought Evan with him when he visited. I hated him at first, because up until I met him, I could almost pretend that I was just like everyone else. I could pretend that I wanted the future my father wanted for me. Terry – my father – he was trying to get me into the family business, which was… anything but legal. While I was trying to be a good son, I did a lot of fucked up things. I hurt people, threatened people… And I tried so hard to make him proud, you know? And then Evan came into my life, all stupid smiles and careless laughter. It was like he didn't care about the danger. I could always feel his eyes on me, wherever I went, and everything about him was like a reminder of who I could be if I wasn't afraid, if I was free.” Absentmindedly, Mickey reached out to touch the gravestone but stopped himself, stepping back instead. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting Ian's presence calm him down.

“We became best friends. I still pretended to hate him, but it was getting harder and harder… And he was always so reckless, so fearless. He was like a drug to me. I started being more courageous, even abandoning some of the work my father ordered me to do. When he kissed me the first time, I broke his nose. Then I kissed him back, and for a few months, we lived in a bubble. I was sixteen and in love, and I felt so powerful, Ian. Like I owned the whole world.”

“What happened?” Ian asked, quietly. He reached out a hand to Mickey's face, wiping away the few tears he couldn't stop from falling.

“My dad,” he said, breathing in through his teeth. “He caught us. We were just laying on my bed, holding hands and… fuck, I told him I loved him for the first time, seconds before that. Then, Terry walked in. It was… I…”

“Hey,” Ian said, pulling him into a hug. “It's okay, Mickey. It's okay. I'm here. You don't have to go on.”

Mickey breathed in Ian's scent, and he stayed like that, hugging him, for what felt like hours. Eventually, though, he pulled away. He had a story to tell.

“I never told anyone. But I need to tell you. I can't stop now.”

“Okay. I've got you.”

Nodding, Mickey breathed in and went on. “Everyone who knew Terry was afraid of him. No one messed with him, ever. He used to beat the shit out of us when we were kids…“ He looked up again, realizing that he hadn't told Ian about his siblings, but he kept talking. He had to. “But this time, it was different. He was furious. I knew I was putting Evan in danger by being with him, but I never realized how bad it could get. When Terry threw himself at him, I tried to get him off. I've never fought against him before, ever, and I was weak. He didn't stop… beating him, he just wouldn't. I could just watch. And then, he turned to me and… Did the same, and I just wished Evan would get up and _leave._ He was bruised up and bleeding, but alive. Then, Terry pulled out a gun, pointed it at him, made him sit down against the wall. I passed out, I guess, and when I woke up, Terry called in a girl. I knew her, she used to work in the kitchen… She told her to fuck me – fuck the faggot out of me. He made Evan watch. Then, when I woke up again, Terry was gone. And Evan was dead. He shot him in the head, left me to find him. The official story was that he had been attacked in the streets, and no one ever questioned it. No one knew.”

Mickey stopped talking then and dropped to his knees, dragging Ian down with him. When he looked up, he could see that Ian was crying, too. They stayed on the ground, holding each other, and despite the pain, Mickey felt relieved, too. Ian was the first person he'd told this, something he never thought he could do.

“I'm so sorry, Mick. No one deserves to go through something like that. Thank you for telling me. I'm so sorry…”

 

Once they got to Ian's, they collapsed on the bed together. Neither of them said a word since they returned from the graveyard, and Mickey knew that, apart from his story about Evan, Ian had to be thinking about the unsaid, too. Like the old, worn gravestone, or his long dead, never before mentioned siblings.

The weight of the other truths was now like a living thing. He used to find comfort in it, in his secrets, but now it was crushing him. He had to tell Ian. About Inna, about Clayton, about the accident that caused all this. He had to tell him because staying wasn't the same as not running away. It meant more than that, somehow. And he'd have to deal with all that, despite the fact that Ian gave him an out.

 


	8. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no matter what you do, the universe always has its own plans.  
> it doesn't care about your stupid story.  
> it doesn't care about you.

 

**_Chapter 8: The Beginning_ **

 

_“Happiness shouldn’t be this hard.”_

_-Adam Silvera, More Happy Than Not_

 

 

After having visited Evan's grave, Mickey decided to come back and see Svetlana, too. He wished his sister had a grave, too, but they never found her body in the sea.

Standing there and seeing her name engraved, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted her to be there, by his side, living and breathing and alive. He wanted her to see Inna grow up. He wished she would have seen her live.

They had a rough start, but even though their marriage had been forced because of the baby, and they were never _in_ love, they developed a different kind of love. They became family.

Even though she wasn't there anymore, Mickey told her everything. He talked to the stone and didn't care if anybody walked by and heard him. He told her about his life after she had died. He told her about Inna and who she grew up to be. He told her about the people he met and lost and left behind. He told her about Ian. The one he promised not to walk away from.

“You'd probably hate him, Svet. Which means he's got to be good for me, right? I wish you could be here. Inna would have adored you. Who would have thought she'd turn out so good, with just me to raise her, huh? You would have done better.”

He left her flowers. She hated flowers, but he hoped she would have appreciated the sentiment. He left some by Evan's grave, too.

He visited them once a week, now. It's been almost two months since he went there with Ian. Three weeks since Ian had asked him to move in with him, the same day that he got his new job. He missed Karen, but he promised to keep in touch more. She had visited once, claimed herself to be the reason they got together.

Life seemed a little easier with each passing day. Simple. Some days, he lost himself in the bubble that he and Ian shared, forgetting about all the things still left unsaid. He had told Ian other details about his past. Told him about his travels and the places he's seen. Ian told him stories, too, and not just the bad ones.

Inna had finally agreed with the hospice, and though it hurt Mickey to see her so vulnerable when they were walking out of her apartment for the last time, both of them knew that it was for the best. That they'd take good care of her there. Angela promised to keep in touch, though, which was Inna's most important condition.

But lately, Mickey's mind has been occupied with a thought that just wouldn't go away. He thought about the picture of Clayton a lot. _Was he still alive? Was he happy?_

He thought about asking Ian, but it would feel like betraying him by not telling him the whole story. Mickey hoped that he'd get his answers on Friday, another dinner at the Gallagher's.

 

“Jesus,” Ian muttered, putting down the phone after what seemed like a very exhausting call with Fiona. “She's unbelievable. Why do all of our talks start with 'you taking your meds?' and end with 'don't forget your meds, Ian!'? We haven't been living together for years and she still manages to control my every step,” he finished with a sigh. Mickey wasn't new to this conflict and he said what he always did when it came up.

“You're your own person now, Ian. Living your own life. It's not hers to control, never has been.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ian replied, still a bit grumpy. “Wish we could just stay home. I know I always say that when we're supposed to go but it never stops being true.”

He was full on sulking now and Mickey had to suppress a chuckle when he hopped on the bed next to his boyfriend.

“Want me to lighten up your mood?” he said as he draped a leg across Ian's hip, grinding against him.

“Fuck, please,” Ian said, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Mickey kissed it off, rather feeling than hearing the soft moans Ian was letting out into his mouth when he moved his hips just right.

“Yeah?” he said, pushing Ian down on his back and rolling up his shirt, kissing down his chest and abdomen. “What do you want me to do?” He grazed his teeth on Ian's revealed hip bone, causing Ian to buck his hips up.

“Touch me,” Ian breathed out, taking Mickey's hand and placing it on his still-covered dick. “Here. Please.”

“How?” he asked, just to fuck with him. He kept his hand where Ian put it but didn't move it.

“Stop fucking around, please. I need you to suck me off. Like, right now. No, five minutes ago. Just, fuck, _please_ , Mick,” Ian's voice was getting deeper, his words blurring together while Mickey was tugging down his jeans along with his boxers and then, by the end of the sentence, he took him in in one swift motion.

They didn't have much time and it was messy, but every single curse or moan that he caused Ian to let out felt like a blessing.

Once he was finished, he laid down next to still shaky Ian, smiling smugly.

“We're gonna be late,” he stated.

“Fashionably late,” Ian replied. “And I gotta take care of you first,” he said, eyes dropping down on Mickey's crotch.

“Nope,” he said, sitting up and pulling Ian with him. “That was just for you. You can thank me on the way back.”

“Deal.”

 

They ended up being late anyway, thanks to the traffic, and the Gallaghers had already started the dinner when they finally showed up.

“Traffic,” Ian said apologetically when they were sitting down.

“Hey,” Mickey said in greeting, receiving nods from everyone too preoccupied with food. Debs wasn't there this time, either, which upset Ian a little when he realized.

“I haven't seen her in ages,” he muttered.

“Yeah, we either. But she seems happy there, away from the neighborhood,” Lip said, shrugging it off. “It's not like many of us stuck around.”

“Yeah, but you visit,” Fiona said, looking just as upset as Ian. “She promised to come this time.”

Even without Debbie there, the dinner kitchen seemed to be crowded once the neighbors have shown up, too. Mickey felt comfortable enough to engage in some small talk, but he knew that both he and Ian were already looking forward to going home.

“Hey Mickey, can we talk?”

He had to look around for a while before settling his eyes on Lip. “Um, sure. Yeah,” he replied, confused. He looked at Ian who just shrugged, but when he, too, started standing up, Lip stopped him.

“Alone. It's a private thing. I'll bring you your boyfriend back in one piece, no worries,” he said to Ian, then gestured for Mickey to follow him up the stairs.

They went to one of the bedrooms and Lip closed the door after them, pulling out a pack of smokes. He offered one to Mickey and opened the window. For a few seconds, they smoked in silence, and Mickey wondered why hadn't they gone outside if all Lip wanted was a cigarette.

“Thomas Barrish. Martin Galton. Eric Walter. Joshua Seemings.” After each name, Lip took a drag, and after each one, he stepped a bit closer to Mickey.

He had to remain calm. He had to. “What?” he said, but Lip chuckled.

“Stop playing dumb, Mickey. Or wait, which one of those names should I call you? Is any of them real or are they all made up?”

Mickey's heart was beating fast and he knew he had to say something. How could he have found out? He was careful, always so careful.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said, sounding pathetic even to himself.

“You need to cut the bullshit. I knew there was something off about you, but I didn't know it was this huge. You're not even a real person. You don't exist, there is no documentation, nothing. Just different names connected to the same face. Over the past sixty years, which is as far as I got. I don't know how is that possible, and I don't care. But I'll give you a piece of advice,” Lip said, dumping his cigarette on the ground. Mickey had long forgotten about his. He was screwed. Officially screwed.

“I can get you downstairs without anyone noticing. You're going to drive away, pack your shit and disappear from Ian's life. You're not gonna contact him again, ever. He will be hurt, yes, but at least it'll spare him the realization that he's been living with a liar, and a freak. Are we clear?”

Mickey's first instinct was to nod and leave with Lip without saying a word. He was just given an out. No one would ever find out, Ian would get past it. It would be alright.

But he remembered his promise. He remembered how it felt to say I love you and hear it back, see it in the actions and the kisses and their perfect little bubble that was beginning to feel like home.

He didn't want to let go. He couldn't.

“I'm not leaving him,” he said. “I love him. Whatever it is that you think you know, I can…”

“Okay, stop.” Lip's face was just inches away from his, and his expression turned from smug to deadly serious. “I'm not fucking around, Mickey. I gave you an out, you refused. I hoped it wouldn't get to this because it grosses me out, but I'm gonna tell you one more name.”

Mickey knew what he was gonna say but it still felt like a slap when he heard the words.

“ _Matthew Smith._ ”

Mickey's hands were shaking and he wanted to say something. Anything. “Please,” he said, but that was it. Lip smiled a sad smile.

“I don't find any fucking pleasure in doing this, you know? Breaking my brother's heart, though indirectly, is really not my favourite past-time. But you,” he said, disgust written all over his face. “Fiona told me what happened the last time you were here. At first, I didn't pay any attention to it, didn't connect the dots, not yet. It's when I told Ian to watch out for you after I have even started discovering all this. I waited this long only because I wanted to give you time to fuck it up by yourself. But he's actually in love with you. So,” he paused. “Will you? Leave?”

Mickey shook his head. “I'm not leaving him. Please…”

“Fuck you,” Lip snarled. “Do I really have to tell him all this? Tell him about how I went to Clayton with a name, and he gave me the whole story after a few threats to tell his wife? Does he really have to go through that? If you've got any fucking feelings for him, can't you just fucking disappear?!”

The door flew open, revealing a frowning Ian who immediately jumped to Mickey when he saw him.

“Mickey? Are you okay? What the fuck's going on?!” he shouted the last part at Lip.

“Ian,” Lip said. “I need to tell you something. Alone. It's important.”

“What did you say to Mickey?!”

“Ian, please. You'll understand in a second. Just come with me.”

Ian looked at Mickey, waiting for confirmation that he was alright. After a few seconds, he nodded, putting on a smile. “Yeah, man. Go. It's cool.” He felt like he was dying inside. He had to be.

“Okay, but… I'll be right back. Okay?”

Mickey nodded again and walked out of the room. He didn't look back. As soon as he was outside, he started running, first down the stairs, then out of the house, ignoring anyone who tried to ask him what was going on. He jumped into the car and started the engine, then drove away. He sped up way above the speed limit and he didn't slow down, afraid that he'd just turn around and go to Ian. But he couldn't.

He started sobbing, quietly at first, but then he could barely see and thought he would have to pull over, but he couldn't, not yet, Ian could be after him already. He had to get to their apartment -- Ian's apartment – and leave.

He didn't notice that he had been driving on the wrong side. He didn't notice the truck until it was just a few feet away. He didn't feel anything at first when the two vehicles collided.

He could feel the car turning, over and over, and at one point he started feeling pain. He thought he might have screamed, he wasn't sure, but it only lasted seconds. He felt his body being thrown out of the car, felt himself crashing onto the ground.

Then, nothing.

 

 

_Ian_

 

“What the fuck did you tell him, Lip? Fucking answer me!” he yelled, pushing his brother aside when he heard Fiona from down the stairs, telling him that she just saw Mickey run out of the door.

“Ian, wait! Ian! Let him go!”

“What?!” he turned back to his brother, shaking with anger and worry. He had to get to Mickey. He wanted to push past Lip and go, but Lip stopped him. They started fighting, but Ian's anger was driving him, pushing him forward. A few minutes later, he finally sent Lip to the ground.

Without a word, he rushed down the stairs, pushing people away. When he got out, he saw that Mickey's car wasn't there.

He rushed back into the house. “Keys,” he barked at Fiona who opened her mouth numbly, confused. “Ian, what…”

“Just give me the fucking car keys, NOW!” he didn't mean to shout, he didn't, and he'd apologize later, but he had to get going. Fiona nodded and rushed for the keys, dropping them in his palm without any more questions.

“Ian,” it was Lip, walking down the stairs while holding onto his side. Ian wasn't even sorry.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“No,” Lip said, standing in front of the door. “You need to let him go, Ian. He left.”

“Lip, if you don't move, I'll fucking hurt you. I'm not joking. Step away.” He tried to keep calm, but he didn't have time.

When Lip refused to move, Ian took a breath and landed a punch. He heard a dull noise and his fist was pulsing with pain, but he never paused to look back at Lip as he pushed past him and out the door. He got into the car and took off, not knowing which direction Mickey could have gone. He thought about going to their apartment, waiting there, but he had to keep moving.

Once he got out of the neighborhood and onto the open road, he saw something in front of him. Sirens. Lots of sirens.

 _A car crash_ , his mind supplied.

There was a car on the side of the road, flipped on its back, and no other one in sight. He was about to drive past it but then he looked back at the car and recognised it.

The brakes screeched in protest when he pulled over, jumping out of the car as soon as it stopped.

He might have screamed something, he didn't know. There were people running and shouting. Most of them were circled around a body on the ground.

Ian stopped suddenly, falling down on his knees. Someone tried to grab him or stop him, he wasn't sure. His eyes were glued to the body on the ground, face almost unrecognisable because of the blood. He tried to get to him, but they wouldn't let him.

“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey…” his name was all he could say, so he kept saying it, over and over and over, making it sound like a prayer, like a cry for help.

 

He had been waiting for over three hours. Each nurse and each doctor that he spotted just told him to keep waiting. He wanted to scream or fight but all he managed was a weak nod of his head. The tears have long since dried on his face and he didn't know how he could wait any longer.

“Let me go! Where is he?! Where is my… Just let me go to him!” A voice that seemed familiar pulled Ian out of his trance, but only after he had set his eyes on the person yelling did he connect it to her.

Inna was pushing past the doctors who kept telling her to calm down, and Ian rushed to her.

“Inna,” he said, and when she looked at him, she started crying.

“Is he okay? Is Mickey okay?”

“I don't know. I've been waiting for hours. No one wants to tell me anything.” His voice sounded dead, tired. The doctors have finally let Inna walk to him, muttering something about her acting hysterical. Ian was about to say something when another doctor walked out of the room where Mickey was.

“Mickey? Mikhailo Rosha, is he okay?” Inna had pushed past him before he could even open his mouth.

“Are you family?” The doctor asked calmly.

“Yes. We both are,” she said, grabbing Ian's arm. “Is he okay?”

“Mr Rosha is still under heavy sedation right now, but he will be alright once he wakes up. He had a serious concussion and we almost lost him when he got here. We had to defibrillate his heart but luckily we got him back. We'll let you know when he wakes up,” she said, trying to walk past them, but Ian stopped her. She looked up at him with a pointed glare.

“Can we see him?” he asked, letting go of her arm, and her expression softened.

“Yes, but he won't wake up for a few hours, at least.”

“Thank you,” he said. She smiled and left the hall, leaving Ian alone with Inna. She was already on her way to the door and so Ian followed, afraid of what he'll find on the other side. He felt impossibly relieved when he found out that Mickey will be okay, but the sight of him on that hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and covered with gauze and bruises… It caused him to start crying again.

“Mickey,” he choked out, walking up to him. Inna was sitting by his other side, clutching his hand and sobbing quietly.

They cried together and then sat there in silence, unmoving. After a few minutes, Inna asked him what happened.

Ian closed his eyes shut, the guilt taking over slowly. “We were visiting my family. My brother wanted to talk to him alone, and then, when I went to check on them, my brother distracted me while Mickey ran away. He took the car. I don't… I don't know what he told him that caused Mickey to run. I chased after him but I was too… late… I'm so sorry, Mick _, fuck_.” He was shaking violently and had to let go of Mickey's hand so that he could wrap his arms around his body, trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Inna touched his shoulder gently, meeting his eye. “It's not your fault, stop blaming yourself. Stop blaming your brother, too. It's nobody's fault. It was an accident. Bad things happen.”

“But what if I…”

“That's bullshit, whatever you want to say. You gotta be strong. You _have_ to be. For Mickey.”

Inna's hand on his shoulder was like a rock, and so he tried to focus on that, focus on her breathing. She was strong and collected herself quickly, even though he could see how worried and fragile she was just underneath the hard surface. She reminded him of Mickey so much.

“I will be,” he promised.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day!!  
> the last one was basically just a drabble but it was necessary to end it there.


	9. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if running to me is not an option, let me run with you

**_Chapter 9: Everything_ **

_“While we can’t always engineer our own happy endings, we can learn how to be more happy than not with the cards we’ve been dealt.”_

_― Adam Silvera, More Happy Than Not_

 

 

The first thing he registered was the beeping.

His eyelids felt heavy, as if someone had been keeping his eyes closed, but he managed to open them eventually. The light was sudden and too bright, so he closed them quickly.

“Mickey? Mickey? He's waking up! Ian!”

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it so he tried to open his eyes again. It was less violent this time, and he could actually look around.

He was in a hospital, and the beeping was coming from the machines.

He was in a hospital because he had been in an accident. And he had been in it because…

“Mickey?”

Mickey looked up at the person who was whispering his name, and as soon as his mind supplied her name, he tried to say it, but it took his mouth a second too long to respond.

“Inna?” he managed, coughing a few times.

“Shh, don't talk. Don't talk. It's okay,” said another voice, and as he turned to him, he said, clearer, this time. “Ian? Ian, what…”

But then, another series of coughs followed. He could hear a nurse coming in, and soon, he fell unconscious again, the sedatives forcing his eyes to close.

 

 

When he woke up again, the world didn't seem so foggy anymore. He blinked a few times and looked around the room, his eyes stopping on the person curled up in a chair next to him.

“Ian?” he said, quietly, and Ian shook awake, his eyes finding Mickey's.

“Mick?” he asked, and when Mickey smiled at him, tears started falling down his face. “Fuck, are you okay? Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse? I was so fucking worried Mickey, I thought… I'm calling the nurse,” he blurted all of it out, trying to control the sobs, but Mickey reached his hand out to stop him.

“No nurse. I'm okay, don't wanna sleep anymore.” He felt weak and his throat hurt, but at least he didn't cough this time.

“What happened?” he asked, remembering the crash but not much after. He didn't know if any real damage was done.

“You… your car, it crashed and… the other person just fucking drove away and… they said you had a concussion and that they had to defibrillate you. Almost fucking lost you, Mickey, I can't imagine…”

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound comforting but, unable to suppress it, letting out a wince of pain.

“Fuck, the nurse. Mickey, you're hurting,” Ian said, jumping up. “Wait here. I gotta call Inna, too.”

 _Wait here_ , right. As if he was about to walk right out.

The nurse came and got him something for the pain, but she didn't put him to sleep anymore. When Ian walked in again, Inna was there with him. She walked up to him and wordlessly sat down next to him, squeezing his hand tight.

“You fucker. Never do this again,” she said, deadly serious. Mickey nodded, noting the single tear slipping from her eye.

“Won't,” he promised. Ian sat down by his other side, and Mickey turned to him.

“I'm sorry. For running away. I broke my promise.”

“Don't… We'll talk about it, but later, okay? You have to rest now. Mickey, I love you, okay? I love you so fucking much, and you're alive. Nothing else matter now, alright?”

Mickey nodded, squeezing Ian's hand weakly. “Love you, too. And you,” he said, turning back to Inna. “I love you. But I think I'm gonna fall asleep again. Fucking hospitals,” he managed before his eyes draped closed again.

 

The doctors said that after a few more days in the hospital, they'll let him out. Ian had spent the first night there, while Mickey was still out from the sedation, and Inna and Angela have both come first thing in the morning. Mickey was no longer so tired but he was getting grumpy instead. He wanted to go home, but the reason he had left in the first place was like a weight that kept him from even looking at Ian.

But now, they were alone in the room, and Ian was looking at him, he could feel it. He knew they had to talk about it.

“Mickey,” Ian said, and after a few long seconds, Mickey met his gaze. “I can't lose you. The moments when I thought that you were dead… I've never been so scared in my life. I can't imagine going through it again. Whatever it is you're running away from… If running to me is not an option, let me run with you. Because I'm stuck with you, you know? You're it for me. I know that it's not been very long, but I know I've _never_ loved anyone like this.”

Once Mickey had finally looked at Ian, he couldn't get himself to look away. He never wanted to _have_ to look away again. He wanted to keep waking up to the sight of Ian, for the rest of their lives, whatever it took. He wanted Ian to know the truth because however awful it was, it was a part of him. He wanted Ian to have all of him. To _love_ all of him.

“I love you,” he began. “And I'm gonna tell you, now, because this fucking hospital is getting on my nerves and I swear to God that I'll stick the sedatives up the nurse's ass if she tries to knock me out again.”

He tried to laugh but it came out like a sigh, and so he continued before he could change his mind.

“First… My name isn't really Mickey. Or Mikhailo. But it is my middle name… Used to be, at least.” He didn't look away from Ian. He grabbed his hand instead, to keep himself calm. Ian's expression was neutral, unfazed. He waited for Mickey to continue.

“I was born as Aleksandr Mikhailo Milkovich, in 1903.” Ian's frown deepened, but he hasn't interrupted him. Hasn't laughed it off or called him out on it.

Mickey cleared his throat.

“What I told you about my life, my dad, about Evan… All of it really happened. I had a lot of siblings, and though I was the youngest, my father wanted me to inherit our residence and money. The others were never around, most of them ended up in jail or got killed by my father's enemies. I had a sister though, Mandy, and she was the only one from my family whom I loved. She was amazing,” he said, his voice shaking. “You would have liked her. And… What I told you about my father and the… girl from the kitchen? Her name was Svetlana, and… We got married.” Ian squeezed his hand tightly but didn't react otherwise, so he kept going. “Turns out, she got pregnant. I never loved her, but we found an understanding, which turned into something more over the years. I loved her like a sister, like family. She gave birth to my daughter, after all,” Mickey said, his eyes welling up with tears. Ian was looking back at him, eyes wide. “Inna…” he said.

“Yes,” Mickey whispered, his voice weak. “Yes, Inna. She's… the most fucking amazing thing that ever happened to me, and I really don't take any credit for it, it's all her. And her mother. Svetlana died when Inna was five.”

“You raised her alone?” Ian asked, and Mickey couldn't believe that he was still there.

“I had to. Svetlana's ghost would have haunted the shit out of me if anything happened to her,” he said and Ian laughed. Mickey joined him, with no real intention to do so. The laughter died out quickly though.

“But why are you… Like this? Why aren't you old? How is that even possible?”

That was the hard part. Mickey had no clue. “I don't know. I spent years trying to figure it out. Studied medicine, read all the books that even remotely touched the subject, but nothing. I… I got into a car accident before, too, and I think it had something to do with it, but I still haven't figured it out. I just never got any older, you know? And it got dangerous when people started to notice… Inna was my age and we looked like siblings, and I had to lie about my age… Then, some government people caught me, wanted to do tests on me. That's when I started running. Never stayed in the same place for too long, always changed my identity, my appearance. I kept in touch with Inna, always, but I had to move around a lot. It was… Hard. To get attached and then…” He motioned with his hands, unable to find words. Ian hummed, lost in thought.

“My brother?” he asked.

“He found out. I don't know how. When we got upstairs, he told me some of the names I had used over the years… Sixty years, to be exact, that's how far he got. He…” Mickey paused. He wasn't sure it was a smart idea to tell Ian what his brother had asked him to do, not when Ian already seemed like he had connected the dots.

“What did he tell you.” He made it sound like a statement, his eyes piercing through Mickey's. He couldn't lie. He was done with lying.

“He said I should leave you alone. That he'd get me out of there without anyone noticing. Asked me to pack my shit and leave, never to contact you again. But I said no,” he added quickly because Ian was already rising up, fuming. That, however, made him freeze.

“What?”

“I… I told him I loved you, and that I wouldn't leave you like that.”

“But… You ran away,” Ian said, his voice so small and quiet that Mickey wanted to curse himself for ever bringing it up, but he had to get it out, right now, or he'd never do it and it'll destroy them. It almost did already.

“Lip knew something else.” He felt hot and cold at the same time. There was no easy way to say this, and Ian picked up on his panic.

“Mick, calm down. It's okay. No matter what you'll say, I'm still here, okay?”

Nodding, he made a grabbing motion for Ian's hand, asking him to sit back down silently. When he did, Mickey breathed in slowly.

“Remember the first time we went to Fiona's? The picture of Frank and…” he couldn't say the name.

“Clayton,” Ian said, still frowning. He didn't get it, not yet.

“I knew him,” Mickey said, and that's when Ian's eyes widened, his mouth falling open. After a few long seconds when Mickey was getting ready for Ian to either shout or leave without saying a word, Ian just blinked a few times and nodded. “You loved him.”

He seemed so calm. Collected. Mickey squeezed his hand carefully, and only when Ian squeezed back did he continue. “Yes. We were together, for a while. In the seventies. When I saw the picture… I didn't even know if he was alive. Hadn't seen him since… since I left.”

“What happened?” Ian asked.

“I fell in love,” Mickey muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. “And I was so scared. We… moved in together, you know? But I didn't think it'd get so serious, not for him, at least. But one night he just… Said that he loved me, and I freaked out. Left when he fell asleep. Never saw him again, went to Europe for two decades to avoid running into him.”

He felt ashamed, even now.

“I'm sorry, Mickey. About everything. I… It's a lot to take in. And I want to say that you could have told me earlier, but I have no idea how I'd react, but it doesn't matter. You told me now. And I love you. Even though you're so fucking old,” he said, causing Mickey to snort.

Then, Inna walked in, her eyes softening when she saw him. “Mickey!” she said, walking up to them. “Hi, Ian,” she said, but Ian was standing up now.

“Inna,” Mickey said, seeing how confused she was. “He knows.”

It took her a moment, but when it clicked, she smiled so brightly, he thought he's burst with the happiness. It was overwhelming. “He knows?” she asked in disbelief. Then, she hugged Ian tightly, and he hugged her right back.

They talked after that, joking and laughing, high on the fact that they were all okay, no secrets dividing them anymore. Just the truth. And they were strong enough to carry it.

“I'm not calling you dad, though, if that's what you're thinking,” Inna said jokingly to Ian, who seemed mortified by the thought for a second.

“That's all sorts of fucked up,” Mickey exclaimed. Ian looked at him thankfully.

They were okay. Everything was gonna be okay. And if not, they'll figure it out.

 

Two days later, Mickey was being released from the hospital. He was more than happy to say goodbye to the white walls and snobby nurses.

“Home,” Ian said cheerily as he pushed the door open, waiting for Mickey to walk in before closing it behind them. The apartment looked exactly like they left it. Ian had been there a few times for a change of clothes, but other than that, it was unchanged. Even the bed was still unmade.

Mickey had thought that the next time he'll be here, it'd be to pack up and leave forever. Instead, he was planning to keep calling it his home. But it wasn't the apartment, not really.

“I'll make coffee. Go sit down, okay?” Ian said, motioning him towards the couch.

“Yes, mom,” he muttered, watching Ian go through the motions. As always, the music was on, slowly filling up the space, along with Ian's quiet humming. A few minutes later, he returned to Mickey, handing him his coffee with a soft smile.

“Is it cinnamon coffee time?” Mickey asked, lifting it up to his lips and pressing their legs together.

“Guess so. You complaining?”

“Never.” He missed the coffee that wasn't from a machine. “Your phone is ringing,” he said, pointing at Ian's phone that was on the table in front of them.

Ian made a face but didn't make any move to pick it up. “Yeah, it's been ringing for days now. I picked up when it was my boss, called in sick.”

Mickey glanced at the display. It read _Fiona_.

“Ian,” he said, frowning. “You haven't talked to them?”

“I sent a text to Fi, told her what happened. But no, I don't feel like talking to them. Don't really trust myself not to drive over there and murder my brother,” Ian said, anger creeping into his voice.

“It's not his fault, Ian. It's mine, if anybody's. He was just trying to protect you.”

“Don't,” Ian muttered, disconnecting their hands. “Don't fucking say that. You could have died. And even if you never got into that car crash, I'd still want to strangle him. He had no right to send you away, to blackmail you.”

The phone kept ringing, call after call. Ian was breathing heavily and Mickey was trying to think of something to say to calm him down. At first, he had hated Lip for trying to force him out of Ian's life, but as time went on, he started to get it. Ian was his brother, it was nothing but protection. Mickey would have done the same for his sister.

“You should talk to them. They're family. Lip isn't even in the house anymore, and I'm sure your sister's worried.”

Ian spared a glance at the phone. Mickey reached out again, clasping their hands together, encouraging him. After a few seconds, the ringing stopped, but as soon as it started again, Ian took a breath and picked up.

“Fi,” he said instead of greeting. Mickey couldn't hear what she was saying, but it seemed like she was yelling, judging by Ian's face.

“Yes, he's with me. He's okay. Just got released.”

Ian listened for a few minutes before speaking again.

“I'll ask him, okay? Like I said, we just got home…. Yeah, yeah, of course. And Fi? I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'll talk to you later, promise. Bye,” he said, hanging up.

“Feeling better?” Mickey asked, seeing the small smile on Ian's face.

“I guess,” he replied. “She was really worried about you. They all were.”

Mickey's eyes widened in surprise. It didn't even occur to him that Ian's family would care so much. “Oh,” he said at last, “that's nice of them.”

Ian snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not all of them are jerks. I know I keep hating on them, but you were right. They're family. And they totally love you,” he said, grinning.

It was obvious that he didn't count Lip, and Mickey had to wonder whether he had told the rest of the Gallaghers the truth.

“And your brother?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. Ian shrugged, still smiling.

“I broke his nose. The fucker deserved it. Fiona said that he left a few minutes after me, but he hasn't told them anything. I hope he doesn't show up anywhere near me, for his sake, not mine. But, uh,” Ian paused, looking at Mickey sheepishly. “I had to promise her to explain. We've got to come up with a story.”

Despite the seriousness of it, Mickey had to smile when Ian didn't even suggest telling them the truth. He wasn't ready for that, not even slightly.

“Thanks. But… won't Lip tell them the truth, anyway? He doesn't know everything, but…”

“He won't,” Ian said, voice firm. “I'll take care of that. If he was just trying to protect me from the truth,” he snorted, “then there's nothing to be worried about anymore. I'll tell him that you told me everything and that I don't care.”

“Okay.” Mickey pulled Ian down and kissed him. They kissed until they forgot all about car crashes and secrets that weren't threatening to destroy them anymore. There were still things they had to cope with, though. None of their problems had disappeared, but they had made a promise to each other to fight those together, side by side, hand in hand.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is the last, aaah! it's so hard to let go of this story, i enjoyed writing it so much. i was thinking about maybe making a sequel, but i'll write more about it after posting the final chapter. let me know your opinion, please!! xx


	10. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> better late than never

**_Chapter 10: Closure_ **

 

_“I'm sorry, but please don't be mad at me for reliving all of it. History is all you left me.”_

_― Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me_

 

 

****

It was four months later when Ian and Mickey decided to move out of Chicago. They didn't want to go far, but they figured that a change of space would be nice. Inna, the stubborn little rebel that she was, boycotted her stay at the hospice and basically tried to bully Mickey into leaving her and Angela in Chicago on their own. He hasn't agreed, not yet. He'd be happy to have the two of them come along, but he'd have to make some arrangements, first.

“Have you looked up the link I sent you?” Ian asked as he was putting off his work coat, hissing every so often because of how sore he was.

“Uh-huh,” Mickey murmured, helping Ian out. “Busy day at work?”

“Fucking awful,” Ian admitted, frowning. “Been called to two car accidents, a house fire, attempted suicide and a shooting. I'm really looking forward to moving out of this city.”

That's what Ian kept telling him, anyway, but Mickey thought that it was more to convince himself rather than Mickey.

“So what did you think?” Ian asked, sighing contently when Mickey rubbed and massaged the back of his neck.

“About what?”

“The link, Mickey. What did you think of that apartment?”

“Oh,” he said, trying to recall it. They all looked mostly the same to him. “It was okay, I guess. We should go see it in person though, you know? It's not like you can actually tell whether you like it or not from a lousy picture.”

“True,” Ian said, pulling Mickey into a kiss before standing up. “Shower,” he said, taking off.

Mickey checked the time in the meantime, seeing that they still had an hour left before meeting with Lip.

Oh, about that. About a week after Mickey got home from the hospital, Lip had cornered Ian at work, demanding to talk to him. He had come to apologize, and though Ian did punch him again as soon as he saw him, they had parted ways mostly reunited.

Ian still held a kind of a grudge against his brother, but as soon as Lip had come and met Mickey properly, apologizing and explaining that he didn't mean any real harm, Mickey had tried his best to show no hard feelings towards Ian's brother.

It proved out to be real fucking hard. Lip might have said that he was sorry, but he was still an asshole, and he wasn't particularly fond of Mickey, either. But he was a smart asshole, and when Mickey and Ian explained to him the rest of Mickey's story, he got really invested in trying to help them figure it out.

He's had a few theories which proved out to be wrong, but this time, he said he's found something good.

 

…

 

“So,” Lip started, sitting down on their couch. Ever since Mickey had started living there, he and Ian had done a lot of work on the place, which was another reason why it felt a bit weird to leave it behind. “I've got a theory.”

 _Congratu-fucking-lations,_ Mickey stopped himself from saying. Lip had started all of their talks with that sentence.

“What makes this once so special?” he asked instead.

“I think we overlooked one detail which could explain a part of it. I looked into the records and, as expected, found nothing about the accident you'd had in 1925, but I did get a hold of the papers from that date.”

“But we've already been through those,” Ian said, frowning.

“Yeah, but we were only looking for the mentions of the car crash, right?”

Ian and Mickey nodded in unison, the confusion on both of their faces making Lip snort, which the two of them ignored.

“So, I found something interesting. The weather reports.”

“What's interesting about weather reports? Just stop fucking around and say what you've found out.” Ian's voice was growing impatient, seeing that they could have actually made some progress.

Lip pulled out the files which they have managed to collect, fishing out a medical record of Mickey's recent stay in the hospital.

“It says here that your heart stopped beating and that your breathing had been slowed down to a minimum before that. They had to defibrillate your heart,” Lip said, pointing at the part he had underlined. “The weather reports said that there have been severe lightings all over the country for weeks. You said that your car flew over the bridge and landed in the water. You were unconscious for some time. Let's assume that a lightning bolt hit your car. If your heart had already stopped beating by then, it could have been very similar to the defibrillation,” he finished, grinning smugly. They haven't even thought about any of that before.

“But,” Mickey said, frowning, his voice trembling from the long forgotten excitement of trying to find out the truth. “wouldn't that mean…”

“That the repetition of that process should have stopped the whole not aging thing? Yeah, probably. There are some things I need to look into and a lot of it is just theoretical, absolutely unexplainable by today's physics… But it could be possible, one day, if we know what to look for.”

Mickey's head was spinning, his mind still registering what Lip was suggesting. Could it really have stopped? Would he start getting older now? Grow old together with Ian? Was that possible?

Ian seemed to have been thinking the exact same, their eyes meeting over the files. A small smile tugged on his lips, matching Mickey's. Even if it was just a small possibility and they knew it might not be true, the hope was more than they ever dared to wish for.

“Does this mean we stop the whole passive-aggressive bullshit, now that I have maybe solved your boyfriend's little problem?” Lip was looking at Ian, his expression serious despite his joking tone. Ian finally looked away from Mickey and rolled his eyes, smiling.

“I still think you're a jerk, and I _will_ kick your ass if you ever try to pull something like that. It's like we agreed. No threats, no blackmail, no insults. If you don't break the rules, I might consider forgiving you,” Ian said, bumping his brother's shoulder. Mickey loved seeing them stop fighting, knowing that he had been a cause. But that didn't mean he had to like the asshole, right?

Once Lip had cleared out of the apartment, the two of them began celebrating. Even if there wasn't anything to celebrate yet, not for sure, anyway, but the times called for a party anyway.

“This is so lame,” Mickey exclaimed as the two of them danced to the music blasting from Ian's speakers, Mickey completely off the rhythm, both of them laughing carelessly.

“Shut up, you love it,” Ian laughed as he swirled his hips, his arms moving up and down Mickey's back with the beat.

“I'd rather just watch you dance, you know. Might spare me that back ache later.”

“You want a private show, huh?”

“Wouldn't say no to that…” Mickey muttered, grinning as Ian pulled him closer before pushing him down onto the kitchen chair.

It was definitely worth all the teasing later.

 

…

 

“Mick?” Ian asked, voice tense. He had been acting weird the past two days but Mickey figured that he'd let Ian sort his thoughts out before prying about it.

“Yeah?”

Ian was fidgeting with his food, not really paying attention to it. After a few more seconds, he sighed, putting down the fork. “I spoke with Clayton a few days ago. Called him, actually.”

He looked at Mickey who tried not to react, but his heart was beating like crazy, his mind racing. He knew that Ian hadn't been in contact with Clayton apart from one encounter when he was younger, so why start now?

“Why?” he asked, figuring that that about summed it up.

“Well, we are about to leave the city, right? And he still lives here. I've never told him the truth, and I was thinking about what you had told me about him… The two of you. Before, he was just this… concept, in my head, you know? Not an actual person, but you made him into one, and I was thinking about meeting him, at least once. If it doesn't work out, I'll never have to see him again.”

It made Mickey smile, despite who it was that they were talking about. He tried to just think about him as Ian's father, nothing else, which didn't really help, either.

“That's great,” he said, sounding a bit fake but covering it up with a smile.

“I was also thinking…” Ian continued, looking down at his hands this time. “That you could meet him, too. If you want.”

Mickey was glad that Ian couldn't see his expression then, because it was a one of pure terror, quickly turning into pain.

“I…” he tried, his voice failing. “That's impossible. I can't even… It's been so long, what would I even say?” He couldn't just show up, looking like he'd just left yesterday when more than forty years have passed.

“That's why I wanted to meet him alone, at first. Get to know him, see how he lives. I know that he's married, but if he's still secretly mourning his lost, long forgotten love… He deserves some closure, don't you think? I mean, I'm not trying to guilt you into it or anything, you know him and I don't. But it was an idea that thought I'd share.”

For Ian's sake, Mickey tried to think about it. What Ian was saying made sense, sure. He had thought about finding Clayton ever since he found out he was alive, but it was never a real possibility. He couldn't explain his unnatural youth, he couldn't explain why he had left all those years ago. He couldn't say that he was simply just too scared.

“I'm not sure it's a good idea, Ian. It could hurt him, to have to relive his past like that.” It would most definitely hurt Mickey, too, but he tried not to be selfish about this.

“Yeah, but… It's up to you, of course. Sorry if it made you sad. But I'm still meeting him, if you're on board with that…?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It's tomorrow. In case you change your mind, I'll let you know where I'm meeting him. You could give me a call and I'd prepare him for it. Just so you know that there's that option,” Ian finished, getting up and smiling.

Even though their bed was comfortable and Ian was warm and breathing steadily, all the usual things that should make him fall asleep in seconds, Mickey was kept awake most of the night by his thoughts.

Meeting Clayton was such an unreal concept before, but now that Ian brought it up… He couldn't help himself but _wonder_ , what if he did it? What would he say? How would he look? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Hurt?

He didn't know, and he was afraid to find out.

 

…

 

**I'm coming. Call me when you're alone?**

 

Mickey had thought about it for hours, eventually deciding to just fuck it and get it over with. He was scared as hell and didn't know if it was a good idea, if it wouldn't turn out to be a disaster… But Ian was right about him. He always had to know, had to find out, even if the truth was painful. The two of them had that in common.

A few seconds later, Mickey's phone started ringing.

“Ian?” he picked up.

“Mick. This is really happening, isn't it? We're at the park, near the fountains, I said I had to make a call. Are you coming?”

He waited a beat before sighing and admitting, “Yeah, if I don't chicken out half-way there, that is. Still have no idea what I'll say. How did he take the news about you though?”

“Good. Said he suspected but wasn't sure. He's bi, did you know that? I thought his marriage was just a fraud but turns out, he's… wait, sorry, I don't want to make it weird for you. I'm sure the two of you will talk.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I'm on my way, be there in twenty. What are you gonna tell him?”

“Uh, ask him not to freak out? I dunno. It's gonna work out, Mick. It has to. He's a good guy, really. I knew he would be, you wouldn't be with just anybody, but it's still a surprise, knowing he's related to Frank. Well, anyway, I gotta go back. Get your ass here, Mick. Good luck. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye,” he ended, hanging up.

Without thinking about it for two long, Mickey threw some clothes on and left the apartment, making his way towards the park.

Once he got there, his palms were sweating, his stomach was flipping and he could swear that he felt panic rising up his throat before he managed to calm himself down a little.

As he walked through the park and to the fountains, he finally spotted them. They were sitting on a bench, their backs to him, which gave him a few more minutes to get ready.

He took a deep breath and kept walking, stopping a few feet behind the bench.

“Hey,” he called out, ignoring the tremble in his voice. Ian was the first to turn around, but Mickey's eyes were glued to the back of the head of the other man, his hair having already turned grey.

Then, suddenly, he was staring into the eyes of the man he thought he'd never see again. A man whom Ian resembled so much, it was almost ridiculous that he didn't notice.

Nobody was saying anything. Clayton was staring at him, mouth open, brows furrowed. Mickey didn't know what exactly Ian had told him, but he wasn't screaming yet, or going on about having gone insane.

“Matthew?” Clayton whispered eventually, quietly enough that it could be mistaken for the wind. “How? How is this possible? I thought…” his face scrunched up in pain and Mickey could see his own eyes welling up with tears.

Ian stood up then, smiling encouragingly at Mickey. “I'll be over there,” he said, gesturing at the fountains.

Mickey nodded, turning back to Clayton. He took a step, then another, slowly walking up to him. He was different, of course, but Mickey couldn't have prepared himself enough for it.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, finally having walked up to Clayton who was standing now, facing him from behind the bench. “I'm so sorry for leaving you. For never saying good-bye. I thought I had no choice.”

He was crying then, letting the tears fall down his face, quietly. Clayton looked like he might break down any second, but he's always been strong. He reached out for the bench for support.

“Forty years,” he said, lips shaking. “And you never came back. I thought you had died. I thought I made you up. You disappeared… It was like you never even existed. All those years… what happened, Matty? How come you look the same?”

He used the old nickname that no one had called Mickey besides him, and though the name wasn't really his, it meant more than just a few syllables. It was like no time has passed at all. 

“It's why I left,” he admitted, looking down in shame. “I've been like this since way back. Decades, before I met you. Never stayed anywhere for long… But you were,” he paused, holding back a sob. “You changed everything. I was… You said you loved me, that one night. And I knew I loved you back. But I couldn't stay, couldn't tell you the truth… So I left. Thought I was sparing you the heartbreak, thought that it'd be easier to leave then than later. But it wasn't. You have no idea how…”

“Oh, I think I do,” Clayton said, sadly. “But stop being so hard on yourself, Matty. It's been forty years. I've forgiven you a long time ago. It's… it's good to see you. Really, really good.”

Smiling through the tears, Mickey replied. “Yeah, it's good to see you, too. You changed,” he said, gesturing towards his face and Clayton chuckled.

“I sure hope so.”

“Are you… are you happy?” That's all Mickey needed to know. Clayton smiled at him, his eyes shining just as brightly as before.

“I am. It took me a while, moving on. Years. I never really forgot about you, but I was able to fall in love again. To start a family. Have kids… Wow, Ian. I was never sure about that. Wish I could have been there when he was growing up. How do you two know each other?”

Mickey worried his bottom lip between his teeth, not sure how to go about the subject, but Clayton laughed then, realizing.

“Wait, you're together, right?” his laughter died out then. “He knows? You told him?”

“He found out. But yes, I told him. Didn't think I'd ever be ready… Didn't think I could stay. But I couldn't run anymore, either.”

“I'm glad you found happiness, Matt. I'm glad we both did, in a way. Thank you for coming back.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling. He saw Ian looking in their direction and he gestured for him to come closer. “We could see each other around if you'd want that. Ian said he wanted to spend some time with you.”

“I'd like that,” Clayton said.

“All good?” It was Ian, having made his way back to them and standing beside Mickey, an unsure smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Clayton replied. “All good. I gotta head home soon. It was nice seeing you, Ian, hope we can see each other soon. And Matty,” he said, turning to Mickey, “thanks. You always take too long though, you fucker.”

Mickey laughed loudly, making a mental note to tell the now confused Ian the story one day.

“Better late than never,” he said.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. I can't believe it - I never thought I'd actually finish something, but yayy, it's been absolutely amazing. Thank you, everyone, for reading, commenting, leaving kudos and bookmarks - it all meant so much to me. Every single one of those made me smile. Thank you!!
> 
> As for the story - the main storyline I had in mind when I started this is now finished, but after spending the time with the characters, I got a lot of new ideas. I was thinking about writing a sequel, or several one-shots, depending on what I come up with. But yeah, just wanted to say that I'm not done with this universe. 
> 
> I've got another multichapter in progress rn, hopefully I'll be posting it soon... It's going to be nothing like this, though. Anyways, this is getting too long. 
> 
> Thanks, for everything xx

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "Fragments" by Jaymes Young


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